The Blood on the Walls
by bookfaerie
Summary: What happens when Bones gets a threatening message because she found out a body in the forest? What'll happen to Parker, who's been taken hostage? A mystery as well as B/B romance, kind of.
1. Chapter 1

"Jesus Christ, Bones, what the hell do you think this is?"

Bones looked at the crime scene and grimaced. Even this was a little bit too...grotesque and bloody for her. The victim had been dipped in oil and burned, sliced with a knife, and been through a beating until the only distinct features were the eyeballs, which were bathed in a pool of blood and flesh, and the bones, awash in crimson liquid. But squinting at the bones, she could make out the basics of the victim. "Female, late 20's to early 30's, of Caucasian descent; based on the blow to the head, which caused—"

"Yeah, yeah, save that stuff for the lab, Bones. The thing is, how the heck did this corpse end up in a forest?" Booth knelt down, only to stand back up immediately and wrinkle his nose from the smell. "Whew! Smells worse than ten-day gym socks."

"First of all, socks in sweat wouldn't be so...smelly unless they were stored in a damp enclosed place, where there's no ventilation, and send all remains the victim to the Jeffersonian, would you?" she first turned to Booth and then directed the second clause toward a man who nodded respectfully at her.

"I've got something!" a woman police officer called from a thousand yards off. Booth and Bones headed toward the woman, who pointed at what was unmistakably a hand, chopped off.

"No wonder I thought there was a part missing," Temperance murmured quietly to herself. "Send that back to the Jeffersonian as well..." When she noticed Booth, at first glance he was fine, but a quick look into his eyes showed her that he was repulsed and disgusted by the chopped-off hand. She grinned at him; she had always been able to keep her head in these types of situations. "A little too much for you, Booth?"

Booth swallowed. "Okay, if you're done, I'd like to get back before I possibly vomit here."

"What's so bad about a missing finger, let alone a missing hand?"

He turned to her. "I don't know about you, Bones, but almost anybody normal would be throwing up at this sight, or at least grossed-out about this. So why aren't you?"

"That's only because I'm the exception," she answered cryptically. "I'm always the exception. Now, let's go to your car and drive back to the Jeffersonian. I'm sure Angela and Zack and Hodgins are waiting for us."

They drove back nearly in silence, except when Booth asked, "How can you stand this life?"

"What life?"

"Having to solve murders practically every week—don't you get nightmares about it?"

It was a habit for her to answer coldly when she didn't want to fully answer a question, and Brennan certainly was not obliging to reply to this inquiry. In truth, she'd had some nightmares about past corpses, and always she had woken up with a cold sweat. A look around her room, though, usually restored her sense of safety and security, but if she could not go back to sleep, she stayed up until it was time to go to work. "It's a simple question that only requires a simple answer: it is only the unconscious mind which retains the most jarring memories, and in this situation, it's easy to re-train the unconscious mind to not release them." It wasn't the most logical answer, but it was all she could think of on the spot.

"Bones." Booth sighed and resumed driving.

Angela and Hodgins, sure enough, were waiting to greet Bones and Booth. "So," Angela started, "any goodies, any easy victims for me to reconstruct their faces?"

"Sadly, the victim suffered a blow which fractured the skull and crushed all recognizable facial features, as far as I'm concerned. I'm having those people ship the corpse here, since it's a three-to-four-hour drive and it takes time to transport a corpse."

Angela's face fell. "Damn. There _are_ no more goodies anymore. Lately, it seems like every face I've reconstructed has to be done out of reconstructing the bone fragments." She turned to Hodgins, who was standing besides her. "So...ask Bones."

Hodgins raised an eyebrow before saying, "I presume there _are _bugs for me to work with."

"Yes and there should be maggots and other insects, Hodgins, to have your every whim granted," Brennan said quickly. "And Angela, you are aware that Zack and I will have to reconstruct bone fragments, am I correct? It takes painstaking skill to reconstruct a skull." She groaned inwardly as she checked her watch. "Now it's time for Sweets—it's 4:00 P.M., and Booth and I have to get there by 4:05." At times she hated those sessions; at times she delighted in sessions which made Booth look sheepish and ridiculous.

"Aw, Jesus, why does he insist on giving us these...psychotic sessions?" Booth complained, walking with Bones to Sweets's office.

"For your information, Booth, it's psychological—not psychotic, which is another term entirely—and they're a requirement, which means it's mandatory."

"Ah, whatever, Bones."

She stopped. "Excuse me, but I do not wish to be treated as a nonentity."

"How've I treated you like a nonentity?" He shrugged but accidentally stepped on her foot when they were turning a corner. "Sorry."

"You know, this is a perfect example of how you treat me like a nonentity," Bones said as she stopped to rub her sore foot. "And I'm getting rather annoyed at your behavior." They stepped right into Sweets's office at that moment, and Sweets greeted them.

"This is exactly why I have you into my office," Sweets snickered lightly, and then his face returned to a genuine smile. "Ah, this drama never gets old. Anyway, you have some activities you're supposed to do to further help your work relationship. I devised them in the middle of the night, when I had a spark of inspiration."

"Oh, great, 'sparks of inspiration' usually don't bode too well, do they, especially when they come from you?" Booth groaned. "Jeez, I had to spend days scrubbing the clay out of my hair." Bones and Booth sat down on a sofa and settled in the sofa comfortably.

"Okay, but this time, it's..."—he paused for dramatic effect—"drum roll, please." When nobody complied, he went on. "It's a dinner and a movie."

"Oh." Booth perked up at the idea of only a dinner and a movie. "I'd been expecting something a lot worse." He smiled and tried to high-five Brennan. "You hear that, Bones? Sweets has got something decent planned out!"

Brennan's stomach dropped when she heard "dinner and a movie." She knew that her tastes were eccentric, as only several ex-friends had been too quick to reply to her question of "What movie?" She raised her eyebrows when Booth tried to high-five her just to buy herself a little more time to think. She wasn't used to being struck dumb in a conversation more than twice; she didn't want to appear speechless before her workmate. "Well, I'm not sure that...a dinner and a movie would be the best choice. After all, we are repeating what we just did two months ago." She felt a wave of heat rise to her cheeks.

"Yes, I know, but this is another opportunity, don't you think?" Sweets tried to persuade her to go.

"Fine, we'll go," Booth agreed, grudgingly. He tapped Temperance's arm. "C'mon, let's go, all right? As long as it's not tonight, I'll be fine."

"What? Booth, why did you agree?"

"Let's get out."

"Oh, but the event's tonight," Sweets challenged them. He leaned back in his swiveling chair and rubbed his hands together.

"Oh, man." Booth put a hand to his forehead and groaned again. "Why did I ever say that?"

"You know what, Booth; let's just get out of here before you say something that leads us into a ditch that we can't get out of." She walked out of the office and headed right to Angela, who was busy reconstructing a face from one of the minor cases that had come in today. "Wow," she said to an amazing sketch of a beautiful woman. "That's fantastic."

"Oh, did you see this?" Angela held up a disk. "Cam found this out, and God, is it...well, you'll see." She grinned mischievously.

"Knowing you, it's probably indecent and inappropriate, isn't it?"

"Watch it." She thrust the CD to Brennan.

"No thank you, but I have to get back to work. I'm leaving at seven, and I want to get as much work done as possible. I only have two and a half hours before it's done, and I have a lot of cases and documents to sort through." She gave an apologetic smile to Angela and headed back to her office.

"Booth, what on earth are you doing here?" Temperance asked in surprise. She tried to get through Booth's outstretched arm that blocked the doorway, but she had no intention of walking under someone's armpit. "You should go—now. I have cases to finish up, and we'll get to it at seven, okay?"

"Wait—hang on a second. Booth asked you out?" Angela came behind her. She put her water bottle on a metal table. "Sorry, but I couldn't help dropping in on the conversation. Ooh, I bet there's something going on."

Brennan blushed, her cheeks turning a slight shade of pink, but she distracted herself from embarrassment by keeping her mind on what to say next. "There is nothing going on at all," she insisted, "and it's only because Sweets had us go to a dinner and movie."

"Maybe we'll go to a bar afterwards," Booth suggested.

"Oh—I have an impersonation," Angela said excitedly. She grabbed her water bottle from the table and pretended to drink it quickly while Booth shouted, "Chug, chug, chug." Angela set the water bottle down again and faced Bones. "What does that remind you of?"

"I don't know," she replied, irritated. "Might I remind you that my temper has already been worn short and you might not wish to say anything that I might take as insulting?" She could feel already a low flame flickering inside her, the heat running through her blood.

"Ah, Bones, you're so naive. It's a drinking contest," Booth drawled. "Your naïveté astonishes me."  
"You should take your leave," she interrupted icily—which was the only way she knew to handle these situations without egging Booth on—"because you have a lot of work to do, don't you, to ensure that the transportation of the corpse goes smoothly while I work on other cases?" Booth backed up respectfully and let her through to her computer. She turned back. "Oh, and unless you start to correct your behavior, Sweets's idea of a dinner and a movie might not happen at all."

"But—"

"Let's go, honey," Angela suggested. "C'mon, leave her alone for a while."

"Okay, fine with me." Booth slouched as he walked off towards the FBI section of the Jeffersonian.

Brennan sat down at her computer and started typing at a word document. She had some cases to do, but they weren't major, and she could always get Zack to power-drill those minor cases while she worked on reconstructing the bone fragments tomorrow. All she really wanted to do was get in half an hour's relaxing typing at her new novel before she had to go to a dinner and a movie tonight. She didn't care what she was typing on the screen as long as it had to do with her novel; it was all about letting herself unwind at the end of the day.

"You ready, Bones?" Booth asked at 6:59 P.M. "It's nearly time for our dinner and movie."

"There's still a minute remaining," she reminded him, logging off her computer and shutting it down. Then she grabbed her purse and her black coat. "Now we may proceed toward the exit." Temperance nodded towards the EXIT sign at the front of the Jeffersonian.

They were mostly silent when they were in the car except when Booth was lost in his own thoughts and the light turned green. "Go," she urged him. "The light's green." When he didn't respond, still thinking, she reached over to the driver's side with two hands and one foot, and pressed the pedal and turned the steering wheel for a brief second before Booth took over the controls.

When Booth suggested they should go to La Bella Fontaine for a restaurant, she didn't disagree. She just looked at him out of her cool eyes and raised her eyebrows.

"What, are you going to start talking about osteogermensis impernfecta?" Booth posed the question rudely.

"It's osteogenesis imperfecta, Booth' it's a simple translation of Latin. _Osteogenesis_ means bone creation, and _imperfecta _means imperfect or imperfection. It simply means that the bone growth is imperfect, brittle bone."

"Oh, no, Bones, no complex terminology tonight. What movie do you want to watch, _Rent _or _Elizabeth_? Those are the only two decent ones."

After a second—"The former," she jumped at the interesting title. Then she calmly resumed eating her pasta and light white wine. "The phrase isn't even complex."

"Okay—weird choice though." Booth sighed, and then he kept eating his linguine with suddenly great appetite.

Bones tried not to flinch when she heard "weird choice." She had heard those two words frequently in her teenager-hood and, because she had chosen movies or books according to her own tastes, she didn't have many friends. She knew she tended to be cold and distant; several of her rare friends that had stayed with her for a few years had accused her of being too cold and aloof.

Booth seemed to notice her flinch and treated her gently for the rest of the evening, asking only gentle questions and not insisting that she needed to answer his interrogations. "Hey, I'll take you home," he offered after the movie. They were walking out of the theater, and the night was crisp and cold with no clouds to taint the deep blue sky above them. "It's a nice night," he muttered, looking up. He had his arm around her shoulders, and he had to admit that he was enjoying it.

"Yeah," Bones softened and murmured in response. When he was walking her up to her apartment, she noticed that it was eerily quiet. She glanced at her apartment door and stepped back in shock.

DO NOT GO FURTHER IN YOUR INVESTIGATION. YOUR LIFE IS AT RISK.

X.

It was written in capital letters in red paint on her door. She didn't know how to react; fear didn't make her heart pound, it made her heart cold and still as well as her exterior, but anyone who knew her well saw that she was frightened. She swallowed nervously once and collected herself before turning to face Booth.

"What the...Bones, you're coming home with me." He tightened his grip on her shoulder protectively.

"I can't go home with you—what'll Parker say, or Cam? I insist on going to my apartment." She tried to fight her way out of his grip, but he proved to be too strong and forceful.

"Shit, Bones, your life is at stake. Do you honestly think that I'm going to let you be in danger?"

"Yes...no..." The words seemed to just come right out of her mouth without running through her brain. She looked at him glaringly. "Fine—if that's the way you want it, then it's okay. It's going to take a long time to scrub the paint off my door, anyway." She turned around and started walking down the hall to conceal her fear.

"Hey, you ought to appreciate my actions," he shouted after her before jogging to catch up with Brennan, who was walking briskly even in high-heeled shoes.

"I am a sentient human being, Booth, I was so when I came into this world, and I had originally planned on expressing gratitude, but you have made me change my mind." She knew he hated long speeches; she was in a bad mood tonight, because everything had been going well in little flashes, but for the majority of her day, it had been terrible—the threat, the dinner, the way Booth had teased her, the fact that she hadn't had a good night's sleep for four days in a row. Temperance yawned, which was a good excuse to wipe off the tears forming anyway.

"Trust me, you're not human if you aren't scared or at least pissed off about the way I treated you, Bones." His voice softened so she looked up. "I would be, but knowing you, you probably have it under wraps in your mind. Come on—we're going to my house, for your safety and mine. Besides, Parker liked you, you know?"

She was surprised to find herself softening as well in the car ride to Booth's place. She began nodding off, her head settled in a comfortable spot somewhere as the red light stayed on for three minutes; she felt as if she could finally get some sleep. She jerked herself awake with difficulty, to find that her head had actually been resting on Booth's shoulder. "Sorry—I haven't slept in four days," she mumbled finally at his surprised look.

"Why?" he asked as the light turned green.

"Drive! Last time, I had to take over the wheel!" She pointed to the green light, not to mention the cars that were honking at them.

"Right." He hastily stepped on the gas pedal and made it through the now-yellow light before it turned red again. "Bones?" he said after a while. "If you haven't gotten a decent night of sleep in four days, then how come you're standing?" When she didn't answer, just gazed off steadily into the distance, he added, "Just a rhetorical question."

They came up to the driveway of Booth's place and they got out of the car. "Parker?" Booth shouted into the house as he opened the door. "Parker? Mrs. Offenheimer?" He began looking frantically in every room until he emerged with a look of panic in his eyes. "Parker's missing."

"Not only that, but look"—and she pointed to the message on the wall. Her whole body was frozen with fear, a fear that was not unlike when she was held captive and nearly died.

YOUR SON REMAINS A CAPTIVE UNLESS YOU CEASE WORKING ON THIS CASE. MRS. OFFENHEIMER IS SAFELY RETURNED TO HER HOME. YOUR PARTNER, DR. BRENNAN WILL WANT TO WORK WITH YOU. THERE IS A BOMB IN THIS ROOM. IF YOU CONTINUE WORKING, THE BOMB WILL GO OFF.

X.

Those words, heard uttered often in my childhood, instilled a paralyzing fear that both chilled and burnt me alternately. Ostracizing is methods of letting a child know that she is not wanted. It would be much easier if one spoke it directly to the person intended to receive the treatment than to do it in such a way that it baffles the receiver and does lasting harm. Sadly, no one will dare take that action; either they are too afraid, disgusted, ashamed, or standoffish to admit that they are ostracizing the victim.


	2. More Mysteries

Lyra stood there, panicking on the inside

_**Hey, sorry about the first line—typo. I don't know what happened with my computer, so...anyway, enjoy! **_

"Go to the Jeffersonian" was the first remark that came to her mind. She said it out loud, and Booth rubbed his eyes. "But Bones, we don't know if anyone's there, not even Cam. Look, it's one in the morning."

"At least you could attempt something," Bones replied. "Doing nothing does nothing." She started walking back to the car quickly—it was a way to make her feel secure by taking control and reasoning the situation out. "I'll drive, since you're evidently too shaken to drive yourself." She took over the wheel, leaving Booth in the passenger seat. "You know, this isn't the first time Parker's gone missing."

"I know—and I thought he was safe, Bones, but he isn't. And now nothing is really going right at all."

She glanced at Booth, who was still trying to make sense of the situation. "Relax—I'll call Angela and tell her to help us out." She reached for her cell phone with one hand, feeling a bit unsteady as only one hand was on the steering wheel, and speed-dialed Angela. "Hey, Ange, something strange has come up."

"What happened? You wouldn't be calling at one in the morning for anything unimportant."

"I hope I didn't interrupt anything."

"Hodgins and I did it again."

"Anyway," she said, chuckling in spite of the circumstances, "something happened to Booth and me, so we need to stay at the Jeffersonian for a couple of days. Could you meet us there with extra clothing and food? We can't go back to our apartments."

"Sure," Angela giggled as Hodgins did something. "I'll come—Hodgins!"

Temperance shook her head as she hung up and replaced her right hand to the steering wheel.

"How can you make light of this situation? My son's gone, and your apartment's been declared unsafe. And—God, my house—what'll happen to Parker?" Booth exclaimed anxiously, banging his hand against the driver's compartment in his SUV. "Oh, man, if only—"

"We're here." The Jeffersonian, familiar to them both, towered above them, and the fountain sprayed water so high it rained down in mist. "Come on, I see Angela driving up," she murmured as soon as she saw a sleek Prius drive up into the parking lot. Temperance got out and greeted Angela.

"Hey, honey, what the hell happened?" Angela dragged Hodgins out of the car; he was still half-dazed in his pajamas. "Sorry," she said to Hodgins, "but when Booth and Tempe come driving to the Jeffersonian and asking me to be with them, it's serious."

"Someone took Parker," Booth interjected. "He's missing—and I thought he was safe!"

"Someone painted a message on my door and on Booth's wall in red paint or blood," Brennan added, "and Booth at first wanted me to stay at his house, but his house isn't safe either, so the Jeffersonian is the safest place. We can't put you at risk as well." She logged in her ID and walked in through the glass doors to the gleaming metal surfaces of the Anthropology section of the Jeffersonian. "I might as well start reconstructing the skull anyway," she said when she saw the large package.

"No, you're getting some sleep," Booth and Angela said and interrupted her motions by closing the box which contained the corpse. "You haven't slept in four days, Bones. Go to your office; lie down on the couch, and rest, will ya?"

"No, I can't, not while there's so much to do," Brennan sighed. Her body felt like lead, but otherwise, she was awake and ready to work. She opened the box again and put on some gloves before taking the skull out. She noticed that there was a hole and fished around in the box to find bone fragments, but the bone fragments had to be miniscule. "Never mind—I'll wait until Zack and Hodgins come and help."

She went to her office, turned on her computer, and started analyzing some X-rays of a John Doe's scapula. The John Doe's scapula had some odd ridges, from what looked like a weapon, and as she zoomed in the X-ray, there was sign of osteoporosis. She looked at it from different angles; she even tilted her head, but she couldn't quite make out what was wrong with the scapula.

"Hey." Bones turned around in her swiveling chair and saw that Angela was standing in her doorway. "Look, you're tired, and you've got nightmares. You called me up three days ago, remember?"

She racked her brain to find anything that related to calling Angela about a nightmare, but shook her head. She put two hands on her temples and massaged them.

"That just proves how tired you are. Go and sleep. Booth'll keep watch over you, and Hodgins and I will sleep on the floor next to you, if necessary, to make sure you drift into unconsciousness." She made Brennan take off her coat and shoved her onto the sofa. "Now sleep." Angela turned off the lights and the computer before exiting.

Brennan laid her head on her couch, but she had been wearing her hair in a high ponytail, so she took the elastic band out of her hair before trying to sleep. She resorted to staring at the ceiling when she found she couldn't close her eyes. She tried to move a limb; however, she was too tired. A minute later, she felt her eyes growing leaden and closed them.

_She was being tied up and a thousand dogs were barking at her. She felt her heart pounding as if it was going to burst out of her chest, and she desperately wanted to move, but she was being hung from her arms from the ceiling, and there was no way out. Her shoulders were sore, and she was in so much pain, it felt like her arms were being pulled out of their sockets. She closed her eyes tightly and tried to move, but fire concentrated on her arm-sockets and she sucked in a hard breath. _

_Right at that point, a gun pointed at her. She tried to scream and realized she had a cloth over her mouth, so all that came out was a hoarse "No." Whatever else there was, she couldn't see, because all she could see was the gun and the dogs barking at her, ready to rip her flesh from her bone. "No," she tried again, "don't kill me, please..." _

"No!" Temperance woke up looking into the concerned faces of Booth and Angela. She grimaced as she noticed she had morning breath. She sighed and got up from her couch, rubbing her face and combing her hair into place with her fingers. She cleared her throat before asking, "How long have you been standing over me?" groggily.

"For the past five minutes, since we noticed you were tossing and turning on your sofa," Angela said as she made a face which showed pity and amusement. "Jeez, you didn't tell us how bad it was. And it's only five in the morning. Cam's not even here yet. Get up, freshen yourself."

After Brennan had brushed her teeth and rinsed her mouth with mouthwash, she splashed water on her face. Her brain was still repeating the gun and the dogs, as if the DVD of her life had gotten stuck at that particular moment. She felt a little bit refreshed: her breath was minty, her hair wavy-straight, and her face regained color—at least she'd gotten four hours of sleep, which was more than what she'd been able to get for about the past week.

"What was the dream about?" Booth asked when she came out of the bathroom. "Was it anything bad?"

"I—I know it sounds silly," she started, "but I was back to when he tied me up and tried to kill me. I shouldn't even be disclosing this to you, I mean, you are, after all, my work mate, and you shouldn't be involved in my...personal life."

"Hey, you need to talk about something, I'll listen." He spread his arms in what was supposed to be a gesture of generosity and hugged her. She hesitated, stiff and uncertain about how to react, and then she realized that it'd been a long time since she'd been hugged by anyone. Sully had gone, and her dad's future she was uncertain about; the only pillar that she could lean upon was Booth.

"Thank you," she whispered and smiled before going to her office to tie up her hair again and put on her lab coat. Temperance looked at the skull, her eyes feeling somehow clearer. "Now," she said, "there's a fracture on the parietal which caused small bone fragments to fall." She squinted and closed one eye to the skull and saw that whatever the weapon was, it had been smooth and rounded and had a diameter of about two to three inches. She sighed, because she needed Hodgins to help analyze any substances that had been left on the bone and the maggots to clean the bones with the flesh still attached to them. "There's not much I can do at this point."

"Hey, go get some coffee and a donut or something," Angela suggested. "I'm as tired as hell, and you must feel just shitty."

"I'm fine, but I think I do need a coffee and a breakfast." The two women walked to the lounge in silence and each got a cup of steaming coffee, added their personal choice of milk and sugar into the drink, and grabbed a sugary donut. "Ange, do you ever get nightmares as bad as mine?" She looked across to Angela's eyes, watching how Angela would react.

"Honey, obviously I haven't been involved in anything as bad as yours, but yes, occasionally nightmares come." Angela looked at Bones and patted her shoulder. "Look, Tempe, Hodgins and I are here if you need us, and it looks like Booth is here as well. I'd hug you, but my fingers are sticky and I don't want to spill coffee all over you and me."

"Well, I don't want my shirt ruined, so thanks." Bones got up and went back to her office, sipping her sweetened coffee and putting the cup down to wash her sugar glaze-coated hands. She'd just been about to examine the X-rays of the strange scapula when Booth came into her office—again. "Booth, I think you should get some sleep, and relax. We'll work to find Parker."

"Bones—saying that, theoretically, you had a kid—wouldn't you be worried to death about your own kid being taken away?"

"Yes, but I would try to solve things rationally, not be so worried that I would be inactive."

"Bones! How would you feel if Sully got taken away from the face of the earth and just suddenly disappeared?"

That made her think. She stopped typing and bit her bottom lip. If Sully disappeared from the face of the earth—which he had pretty much done by taking a trip to the Caribbean for God knew how long—she would be worried. All she could remember was how secure she'd felt with him, but the pain was still a dull ache in her heart. She wondered every day, maybe for just a second, how he was doing, whether he missed her. Brennan shoved those thoughts to the back of her head and replied, slowly, "That's not even a question that you should ask, Booth. Sully has disappeared, and do you see me worrying about him too much? No—I have more important matters to focus about here. We will find Parker; don't worry about it." Even so, she hung her head for a moment before shaking the hair out of her eyes to return to her work.

"Jeez, Bones, I really have to wonder about you sometimes." Booth gave her a reproachful look before slowly walking out of her office.

Later, at 6:00 A.M.:

"Hey, we've got to do a sweep of the parameters of the forest. You wanna come along?"

She said, "Okay," before walking with Booth to his SUV. Bones stared at the scenery that whizzed by as the car went about its course to the forest where they'd found the body. At a red light, she was surprised—and a bit pleasantly delighted—to find that Booth's arm was around her shoulders. His touch felt gentle and tingled, as if his touch awakened something in her. She turned around to him and smiled a flicker of a smile. She couldn't believe that she was smiling like that—she hadn't smiled like that since...Sully?

Booth still looked worried, but in his eyes was something softer and kinder. When he stopped his car at the edge of the forest, there were a few police cars, but only one or two, since it was only six-thirty in the morning and half of the people came to work at nine in the morning. They stepped out of the car and into the shockingly cold air. His arm was still around her, and she found herself grateful for the warmth.

She gently shrugged out of his touch for propriety and stared at the scenery about them. "There's about no houses here. Every house is at least ten miles away from here." She looked around again and found a man walking up to them wearing jeans and a T-shirt. She motioned for Booth to come and they stood to the man, two against one. But before they got close enough, she tucked her hand into her pocket for a second and hit RECORD on the tape recorder.

"Whoa, hey, no need to gang up on me. Anyway, I don't think pretty boy would even try to hit me," the man held up his hands and said. "Who's she there, your girlfriend?" He grinned rudely and rolled his eyes.

Bones flushed a shade of rose pink before her cheeks returned to their usual moon-pale shade. "No, I'm Forensic Anthropologist Dr. Brennan from the Jeffersonian Institute in Washington, D.C. May I ask as to why you're walking in this forest when your house is probably ten miles away from here?"

"Damn, you'd better watch it. I've been in a war, and I can shoot like h—" Booth growled.

"Booth," she interrupted, "we're here for an investigation, not to beat up every smart aleck that happens to come along the way." Brennan turned to the impertinent man. "Were you here or around here on November 27th?"

"Just a few days ago? Sure, yeah, I walk here almost every day to clear my head." He twisted up a corner of his mouth and leant against a tree. "Why? Is that a crime or something? Because the last time I checked, humans still had rights."

"No, but did you witness any suspicious activity?"

"Well..."

"Out with it!" Booth muttered. "We haven't got all day."

"Okay, okay, man, don't get mad or anything. But I saw this guy dragging a man into the forest here. It was big and it was in some kind of box—I thought it was a time capsule or something, but it didn't make sense. Anyway, do I have to get this recorded or something?"

"No problem." She hit STOP on the tape recorder. "I've already got it recorded. Thank you for your time, Mr. ..."

"Hayes. Andrew Almanzo Hayes." He grinned again. "I live on—you might want to record this—8762 Wisteria Drive, 91342, Washington D.C., Virginia."

She pushed the RECORD button for the duration of Andrew's speech and the STOP button when he was finished without him knowing. "Listen; is there anybody who lives near here? This is vital information."

"I dunno, there's a guy called Roman Peyton and there's a girl who teaches dance called Clarissa Cecchi. They live about a mile from my place; it's not really that far." Bones pushed the RECORD and STOP button again. He put a hand to his pocket and patted it. "Aw, damn it, I think I lost my green button. My girlfriend sews, and she's really particular about which shade of button to put on some kind of dress or something. I ought to break up with her soon." He started searching around for his button.

"He's lying," Booth remarked when they were driving.

"How do you know?" The sun was beginning to rise. She stared out of the window and admired the golden light that bathed them. The sky would be clear today; it was turning a light shade of blue. The sun winked at them over the tops of the trees and there were barely any other cars on the road, so it was mostly quiet except for the rumbling of the SUV and the occasional attempts of conversation, mostly started by Booth.

"I tell you, I know. And how about you say we check out Roman and Clarissa, okay? What are their last names again?"

"Roman Peyton and Clarissa Cecchi are their names. I recorded their names so that we don't need to remember with too much effort." They got back to the Jeffersonian to find an amused Cam waiting for them.

"What did you guys do? You know what? Never mind—I don't want to know, because karate or tae kwon do might be way kinkier than I thought." Cam threw up her hands in a gesture of defeat. "Anyways, just get to work, okay?"

"We weren't doing anything, Cam, and I think you should know that. Anyway, we were investigating the areas of where the victim was found, and a witness said that he saw a man dragging something into the forest the day. Is Hodgins and Zack here?" Bones looked around for the familiar sign of Hodgins and Zack.

"Is there any reason why Angela came here early, and why Hodgins is also here? And what the hell is Booth doing here?"

"No...No reason at all." Cam looked at her suspiciously before walking off to her own office, leaving Brennan standing, confused and tired. She turned back to Booth, only to find that Booth had headed off to his own office. He was probably typing on his laptop or running around for most of the day. Bones examined the scapula one more time before rubbing her tired eyes. She was now beginning to feel that she needed to take sleeping pills every night and keep the light on in her bedroom in order to go to sleep.

As if she had read her mind, Angela suddenly said, "It's too late to sleep."

"I know that, Ange, but..." She clicked on her email, but a message suddenly popped up. "What on earth is this?"

_**You are working on the case. Cease all attempts to work on this. Your life is in great danger. **_

_**X. **_

"Oh, my God." Angela walked to the doorway. "I'm going to tell Cam..."

Brennan was too tired to protest anyway.

A minute later, Cam came to her office. "Okay—tell me what's been going on—stat."

"We found a body in the forest about twenty miles from here, and I've got a message painted with some red substance on my apartment door warning that I can't work on this case. Booth's missing Parker, and he has a message on his wall too. Then we came here because it's the only safe place I could think of, and then Booth and I went out to investigate the parameters of the forest sectioned off."

"Who the hell would want to threaten you?"

"I don't know." She shrugged and resumed working on her computer.

"Listen—you're staying at the Jeffersonian until we get this all sorted out, okay?"

Putting her life into consideration was one of the hardest things she had to do. Temperance stopped working and paused for a second. She wanted to go home, but the message on her door reminded her that she couldn't be invincible, and there was, after all, as least one person who would miss her if she died. "I will stay at the Jeffersonian, Cam; you don't need to worry." She turned back to her computer, somehow eager to just work and put all considerations of her life out of her mind.

"That's fine. I'll have Booth or Angela stay with you..." Cam walked out, her shoes clicking on the glossy, smooth floor.

Zack eventually arrived, and so the squints eventually got to work. Zack prepared his microscope while Brennan, in her lab suit, ordered Hodgins to clean the rest of the bones. The skull was the only clean thing to work with, and as she examined it, she repeated what observations she'd made earlier this morning. "There's a fracture on the parietal—you see here?" She pointed, gently, to the fracture.

"Ow, that's gotta hurt," Hodgins said in amusement. "Zack—is the microscope ready?" When Zack nodded, he put the skull under the microscope. He squinted (which was why he was called a squint) at the view given to him by the microscope and zoomed in to something. "Hey—look over here. There's traces of iron oxide, particles of dirt, and weirdly enough, little bits of—wood?"

"Wood? How in the world would wood get into a fracture? Iron oxide and dirt—that's probably to be anticipated, but why would wood be there?" She squinted into the microscope and saw that indeed, there were little chunks of wood on the site of the fracture. "Hodgins, can you analyze what type of wood it is? We need to know if it came from the forest where we found it."

"Hey, I need the skull for facial reconstruction and identification." Angela came up behind them and made the three people working on the skeleton jump. "Hi, dear," she greeted Hodgins and kissed him on the lips. "You know, what's this I hear about Booth and me having to stay with you here?" she directed the question to Bones. "If I go, Hodgins goes." She took the skull with her gloved hands and answered to the startled face of Zack, "I'll be right back."

"I'm going with her," Temperance added and jogged after the shrinking figure of Angela. She was barely breathing faster when she caught up. "So, Ange, what do you mean by you both are staying? I mean, I am perfectly self-sufficient and independent, and I have handled situations worse than this before." A part of her wanted to accept that she was being taken care of, but a larger part of a whole insisted that she was fine, that she could take care of herself. After all, hadn't she taken care of herself after her parents had gone missing?

When they reached Angela's office and she had scanned the skull's shape onto her computer, she turned around and faced Brennan's light blue eyes. "We're all friends," she answered softly, "and I'm willing to stay with you until the danger is over. Booth probably wants to do the same thing, anyway. You guys, I swear, have enough sexual tension to power up L.A. at times. He likes you, you know?"

She blushed. "Booth does not like me, Angela. The word _like_ is entirely to general to describe accurately what feelings Booth might have for me. If you and Booth want to stay with me, I'm fine with that, then." Just turning a shade pinker, she remembered how she had felt when Booth's hand had laid across her shoulders onto her back.

"Okay..." Angela gave the skull back to Hodgins, who had come into her office. She started mapping the face and highlighting the arches of the cheekbones and, before two hours had passed, she had what was a close reconstruction of a girl with neutral eyes and neutral colored hair. She ran it through the identification system until the computer pinged. "Okay, we've got a match: Amy Oswald." The hair was black, and strangely enough, the eyes were a light blue, almost the same shade as Temperance's. "Either she dyed her hair, or she was born that way."

"Hey, I found something." Hodgins came into the office again. "Bones, Ange, you might want to see this..."

"She has broken bones," Brennan breathed when the maggots had done their job. "But don't maggots usually take time to chew the flesh off?"

"Eh, I had twice the amount of maggots to chew the flesh off. Wow—the bone got broken right at the middle."

"Who would do that?"

"Dr. Brennan," Zack called, "there's also signs of bones having being broken before."

"Abuse?" She raised her eyebrows when she saw the break.

"How does abuse come into this story?" Hodgins glanced at the bone and replied, "Oh, yeah, big break in the bone. Unless she died before this happened, this must've hurt. I'd guess she broke the arm and then died."

When the day ended, it turned out that Angela and Booth were staying with her. Hodgins decided to stay as well, as Angela had demanded of him, and they sat around in Brennan's office, talking about random matters of interest. "So," Angela started, "what are you guys doing for Christmas?"

"I don't know—isn't that a little bit too far off?" Booth re-crossed his legs and took another slurp out of his noodles. "I mean, I don't think about Christmas until it's December. It's still November, you know, and I don't really have a present to give to Parker..." He stared off into space, most likely wondering about his son's welfare.

"We'll find him," she assured him. "Besides, I liked Parker. He's probably with the guy who wrote the message on the walls." She gave him a pat on the back before going to the lounge for more coffee. When she came back, she sat back down and yawned. "I need sleep."

"So...Bones, have you got anything planned?" Booth glanced at Brennan, who was sipping a warm cup of tea after a long day's work.

"No. I don't have anything planned, and I don't intend to celebrate Christmas this year."

"You're telling me you still don't like Christmas, Bones?"

"No, I don't believe in it."

"By which you mean you don't like it. I know why, Bones—if only you'd get together with your dad. I know your parents disappeared at fifteen, and that's why. C'mon, try to lighten up. At least you're not the one with the kid missing."

"Yes, but since I am under lockdown here, what _is _the point of trying to visit my father, Booth?" However, she let Booth hug her for a second while Angela smiled and Hodgins coughed politely. "Thanks," she added in a murmur only audible in Booth's ears. Again, she was surprised how secure she felt with him around her...

Nighttime fell, and since there was A/C, no one needed blankets. Angela slept in her office, while Booth slept on one of her couches. Hodgins slept next to Angela, while Bones slept on her own sofa. For once, she was sleeping peacefully, knowing that the rest of her friends were only a few feet away.

She awoke to a clattering sound. At first she couldn't speak because of the silence and surrounded them, but she whispered, "Booth? Angela? Hodgins? If this is a joke, that's one that's not going to startle me." But a large, rough hand clamped down on her mouth, muffling her scream.


	3. Broken Barriers

Lyra stood there, panicking on the inside

_**Hey, everyone who's reading this new chapter: I've finally got enough time to post this up! Huzzah! I will be writing sooner now, and you needn't worry. Thanks for the reviews, everyone. Oh, and to all Bones fans who just saw the Season Finale—I know I did—I don't know when this is set. If there is a time setting, it's hopefully sometime after Zack gets out of his psychiatric ward or something. **_

"Your life remains in danger." The large hand held a glittering knife; she could feel the cold, icy burn of the metal blade against her throat. He released her, making her feel ever more uncomfortable and frightened for her life. Her throat seemed to lock and she could feel the hot pressure of tears forming in her eyes. She tried to swallow but found that a lump was constricting her breathing. "Booth..." she whispered shakily. She collapsed on the floor in tiredness and in a strange fear that made her weak.

"Relax; it's only me, Bones." Booth's voice comforted her immediately and released the tension in her muscles. She found herself dumped to the floor, which banged her nose.

"I—I—did you see or hear anyone coming?" She rubbed her nose and checked for any blood. Now that the danger had passed, Temperance wiped away the tears that had formed and were rolling down her cheeks. "I'm fine, I'm fine; I don't know what came over me." All she could think was that thank God, it was too dark for him to see that she'd cried in fear.

"I thought it was you walking around!" Booth pulled her up from her crouching position and had her sit back down on her sofa. "Who the hell could get into the Jeffersonian?"

"I don't know. Ask Angela to see if she can get into the computer's security system and see who logged in, because the doors remain locked unless you're inside already..." As soon as Bones said that, she swallowed nervously, realizing that she had already put in an answer to how he could have gotten in. "Have her check if anything strange happened to the security." She closed her eyes and sighed.

The next day, Zack examined the fracture on the skull and said, "Did the killer hit the victim with a wooden dowel?" in question.

"Nah," Hodgins replied, "a wooden dowel would break with the force of impact." He looked at the wood chips that he had under his microscope and relayed the information to Temperance: "Hey, Dr. Brennan, I found these wood chips are _Sequoiadendron giganteum_, or giant sequoias."

"I have high doubts about giant sequoias being used as weapons, Hodgins, so perhaps the killer resides in California? Giant sequoias are usually found in California, along the Sierra Nevada." She frowned and peered at the close-up of the wood and nodded in approval. "Good work, Hodgins."

Angela came up to them again. "You mean Yosemite? There's a whole bunch of giant sequoias there. I went there—it's like heaven on Earth for pictures."

Booth came into the work area as well. "Guys? You might want to take a look at this..." He led the whole group of Angela, Bones, Zack, and Hodgins into his office. He pointed to an email, which quite clearly said:

_**Parker, 1724, 26, 29. **_

_**X. **_

"Parker's hidden somewhere," Booth resumed talking. "For all I know, he could be anywhere! Where the hell is he?" He banged the computer in frustration.

"Easy, Booth," Angela remarked. "You don't wanna actually cause the computer to crash, do you? You'd lose all of this info." She stared at the email, obviously in surprise and shock, until Hodgins gently moved her aside so that he could have his turn to analyze the contents.

"Tell you what," he said, "I am willing to work on this on any spare time that I have, which excludes sleeping, etcetera. I'm not sure what 1724 stands for, but 26 and 29 might have some relative significance to the Periodic Table. It might give us a hint of where Parker's hidden, or maybe it's a phone number. I'll check." He grabbed a sheet of paper and copied the information in impossibly neat handwriting. "Parker...1724...26...29..." he mumbled as he copied the information down. "I know this much: 26 on the Periodic Table refer to the element iron, and 29 refer to copper." He ran out of the office to his computer, leaving everyone else in the room.

"Hey, I'll get Cam—" Angela started.

"No—it's unprofessional, and there are objections," Zack interrupted.

"Booth's son's life is at stake here, Zack. Do you honestly think that I'd let Parker die?"

"No, of course not, but—"

"Excuse me," Bones forcefully interrupted the conversation, "but may I interject? Hodgins—go sort the note out, and Zack, help me with identifying the bones. Booth, please don't interrupt everybody's work, but if it makes you feel better, I'll go with you when we get a lead. Right now, Angela, I think you'd better work on Amy Oswald; find where she was seen last." She shooed everybody out of the room except her and Booth.

"Go help them, Bones." Booth appeared to be distracted by the email. "The sooner you get your work done, the sooner we can find Parker."

"All right." She knew that the best thing to do was to obey his orders. It would make Booth feel a little bit more in control of his world when everything was toppling down around him. She respectfully walked out of his office and didn't bother him for the rest of the day until, when she was examining another case's victim's phalanges, he tapped her shoulder. "Hey, are you ready to go to dinner?"

He stared at her as if she had suddenly grown an extra head. "Oh, so now you're offering the dinner?" He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed heavily. "C'mon, then; do you wanna go to Wong Fu's?"

"Sure." She finished up her work and got out of her blue lab suit. But as soon as she had smoothed down her hair and put on her coat and grabbed her purse, Angela came running up to her. "What, Ange? Did you get a lead?"

"Yeah," Angela reported. "Amy Oswald was seen a month ago at this ballet class place, The Breeze. Apparently, she takes ballet classes, owns pointe shoes, and is the top dancer. She hasn't actually entered in any competitions—but she was selected to enter in one." In one hand she held the picture of Amy Oswald; in another hand was a photograph of The Breeze. "All I can say is, if she's a ballet dancer, she must be as skinny as hell."

"Damn, she's pretty." Booth examined the photo of Amy and gave it back. "Her collarbones are really prominent—what is she, anorexic?"

"My clavicles are prominent, and I am not an anorexic or a bulimic," Bones retorted indignantly. "Just because someone's clavicles are prominent doesn't necessarily mean that they are anorexic. Prominent clavicles may be just a cause of genetics." She held up her purse and said, "Well, are we going to Wong Fu's or not?"

"We're going." He looked down for a second before walking out with her.

"Wait," Cam interrupted the silence. She was standing behind them, and all three—Angela, Booth, and Bones—turned around in surprise. "If you two"—referring to Booth and Bones—"are going anywhere, then be back before twelve, okay? Twelve is when I leave here, so please get back on time so you don't get attacked or something. If anything happens, call any squint. Zack lives ten minutes away from here, Hodgins and Angela stay here, and—well, you know the rest."

"Okay," man and woman replied before going out of the Jeffersonian. "You've got a weapon, right?" Brennan asked when they were out of earshot.

"Nope—I don't take guns when I'm dating a girl or taking a girl out to dinner." He seemed to be almost merry in mood, speaking in a lighter mood. "I just hope Parker's okay. Hodgins has been working on the numbers as hard as he can—did you notice?"

"Yes, evidently, since he and I are working on the same case." She opened her purse and took out something. "I've got a gun," she said, smiling. "I always keep one in my purse."

"Holy crap, Bones!" he yelped. "You're not supposed to have a gun—you're not allowed to have a gun! That gun—it's a Colt," he spluttered. "Jesus, Bones, you're gonna scare every boyfriend away if you have a gun like that in your purse."

"My father gave it to me," she interrupted proudly. "He said that I might need it." Somehow, remembering that her father gave her this gun reminded her when she had felt a certain kind of security, warmth, and safety in her memories of her childhood. Yet in another way, it made the blood drain out of her face and she felt slightly nauseous at the jarring thought that her father had been a murderer. Temperance had always looked up to her father, and while she had fond memories of her mother, it was her father that came through all this. It was her father that had gotten her into this big mess so that she had had to solve her own case. And never, ever, could she forget that she was named Joy Keenan at birth and her brother was named Kyle Keenan. How could she ever forget?

"Hey, Bones? You zoned out on me here." He waved a hand in her line of eyesight. When she reacted with a jump, he grinned. "Good. I need to make sure you're not having some kind of epileptic fit or something."

"Booth, I was never diagnosed with epilepsy. I was just lost in thought."

After a while, Booth continued, "So what did you think about that movie,_ Rent_? I think it's cool that Angel's a drag queen. Oh—I've got to tell you, you need to see American Idol." When she didn't respond—she was perplexed with what American Idol was—he went on, "You know; the TV show that made Carrie Underwood and Kelly Clarkson famous?" He rolled his hands and put them back on the steering wheel.

"What's American Idol?" She managed to sneak a sideway glance at him without him noticing and saw that he was teasing her in a kind of way. "Booth—you're teasing me, aren't you?" When he nodded, she rolled her eyes. "What happened to Dr. Wyatt?"

"Oh, we talk every now and then." He turned into Wong Fu's parking lot and faced her. "You know, we should see James Bond—you know that new movie, _Casino Royale_? I heard it's pretty good. We should go see it after dinner."

"You mean 'Bond, James Bond'?" she asked curiously. "I've never gotten the association of James Bond with you."

"Uh, it's 'James, James Bond', Bones, not the other way around."

She saw a figure at the car window. At first she thought it was just a random person walking past the car, but the person stopped a few feet in front of their car. She could see, without the mysterious man seeing her, that he had heavy eyebrows and that he held himself erect with a kind of pride and haughtiness. He was wearing a suit, like Booth was wearing, but she noticed that there was a slight bump under the jacket, barely noticeable. She then realized that he had a gun. "Booth? There's a man in front of us who has a gun," she whispered in his ear while putting a hand over his ear and smiling just in case her hand didn't conceal her mouth.

The man leapt at their car. He fired two shots, both of which Booth and Brennan dodged in time, and Bones screamed, "Drive, Booth, drive!" She didn't care if she was screaming, as long as whatever they did got them out of the car and into the Jeffersonian. Fumbling with the zipper, she took out her gun from her purse and held it straight, aiming at the back car window, where the killer had gotten into his car and driven behind them. She cocked the trigger while Booth urged her, "Go and shoot!"

The gun was stuck. She could feel her eyes growing wide as she clicked the trigger again and again. "Damn it," she muttered.

"You usually don't curse," he remarked calmly. He veered left, sending her head banging on the wide window.

"I'm usually not in extreme provocation!" she shouted. She clicked the trigger three times, and on the last time, the bullet went out with a bang. She climbed into the backseat, leaving only her hand in open range of the bullet. Quickly she shot in random directions until she heard the screech of car wheels going out of direction in front of her (she was facing the back car window).

"Nice shot," he said, snickering. "I think we'll just go back to the Jeffersonian and order pizza or something, okay? No more risky excursions out tonight." He patted her shoulder on a red light, seeing that she was still a little shaky with shock. "Damn, you have good aim. Remember that Pam Landy?"

She shivered. She hated that woman—it was a good thing she had shot the stalker. Pam had nearly shot her, if Booth had not stepped in front of her. And even so, she could have just picked up Booth's gun—the woman had been moving so slowly. Booth could've turned to his side so the bullet would've only entered his arm, not into his chest, which was a dangerous area to be shot in—one could die from a wound in the chest, but a shot on the arm wasn't fatal in her case. She could still remember that woman's face—Booth should've just refused Pam's offer to meet with her alone.

"You do realize, Booth," Temperance said slowly, "that this event will just confirm our identity and we're not in danger—not yet." She said this as soon as she had worked things out in her head, but even so, thoughts were still spinning dizzily, confusing her in a haze of memories and logic. She wanted to be able to think clearly, especially tonight, but unfortunately, she hadn't been blessed with clear thoughts lately.

"We can put this up as a case of self defense in court, if anyone comes at this, okay?"

"I know. I'm not ignorant of the law process." She got up the courage to lean her head against Booth's shoulder, and surprisingly to her, he didn't object to her motion. "I'm tired," she said suddenly. "I haven't slept in four, five days, and at this point, one's mind begins to..."—she yawned before continuing—"well, tell Angela that tonight, I think I'll sleep deeply enough not to dream." She closed her eyes, and the next thing she knew, she was being shaken awake by Booth. "Mm...Are we at the Jeffersonian?"

"Yeah," he answered quietly. "C'mon; get up, we're back and it's eleven twenty-three." He opened the car door and let in a cold gust of air from the outside, which woke her up.

She shivered at the blast of freezing air and reluctantly opened her eyes. They were back at the Jeffersonian, and she looked at the clock in the car, which did say eleven twenty-three. They walked back into the Jeffersonian, where an astonished Cam looked up from her work and greeted them with an "Explain what the hell happened and why."

"We're getting ourselves into potentially risky situations, Booth; I think we ought to stay in here." She sighed, ran a hand through her hair, and dropped it down at her side. "Cam, we went out, and already somebody is tracking us. He shot at us, but we got away. I think Booth and I should stay here safely, with security cameras, etc." She didn't want to tell Cam that she had had a gun in her purse. All she felt like doing was trudging up to her apartment and lying down on her bed, but was reminded that she could not. Bones felt like every part of her life was somehow crashing down around her, especially a sense of security that she had somehow acquired when she was able to go back to her own home that she had bought with her own hard-earned money and when she was able to work side-by-side with Booth comfortably. She was certain, because mysteriously, there was a gap somewhere in her life, that there was something missing, although she could only guess what she had lost.

"Well, I'm sorry, but Brennan's right," Cam reported to Booth after ten minutes of serious thought. "You guys are in danger, and I can't afford to lose some of my best workers here. You should be safe, and Angela and Hodgins are your friends. Plus," she nodded to Booth, "Bones here knows tae kwon do." She finished up several minutes' worth of work and headed out the door, the automatic lock beeping as she slid her ID card out of its slot.

"I feel trapped, or is it just me?" Booth walked toward Brennan's office with Temperance behind him. "No one should be able to get back in here, okay?" He stopped when he reached her office and didn't say anything until she asked, "What?" He turned back to her. "You should...er...probably see this. It's not good, whatever it is." He stepped out of her way respectfully.

On the floor was a dead corpse, half-rotted, with its eyeballs still intact and the teeth bared in a painful grimace. The blood was on her floor, and as she stumbled in shock, her shoes were stained with crimson liquid. "Good God, what is this?" Already her instincts were taking over: she isolated her feelings and brought them to reason with logic. "Judging by the pelvis and skull, it's a male, late teenager to early twenties; teeth are missing, same as the other corpse." Suddenly, it hit her: all of the teeth were missing from the corpses in this case. "Booth, there's an unusual detail about this case."

All she heard was a shout and a bang, and because a blindfold had been taken over her eyes, she could only rely on her other four senses to tell her the situation. She swallowed to keep herself from uttering a noise, and she felt the corpse (_Disgusting_, she thought, _without my gloves_) with her left hand and felt empty air with her right. There was no sound except a click-clacking, so she clicked the recording device with her hand without anyone (she hoped) noticing. There was a _whoosh-whoosh_ sound, and everything fell silent. No footsteps. No sound came from her throat.

Cautiously, she removed her blindfold and raised her hands, ready to attack. She looked around; no one was in her office but for her and the corpse. "Oh, crap," she muttered. "What did I do to deserve this?" When Angela and Hodgins came in, they found her kneeling on the floor, looking perplexedly at the scene around her.

"Jesus, honey, what the hell—hey, where's Booth?" Angela knelt on the floor by her friend and lifted her up. "Wash up, and then tell me."

"Oh, Dr. Brennan," Hodgins interrupted, "I found something. The traces of the particulates on the victim's fracture indicate some place to do with both metal and wood. I suspect a lumbering company."

"Good work, Hodgins." Brennan got off the floor with Angela's help and went over to the sink to scrub her hand extremely thoroughly. Then she proceeded to wipe her hand all over with antibacterial hand sanitizer before daring to touch anything. She felt as if she were contaminated in some way worse than blood touching her hand. Had her hand had any cuts? She inspected it and, to her relief, found no cuts or scratches. She felt shocked, as if there was a barrier between her and the real world. She wanted to believe that Booth was still here, but he wasn't, and so her barrier was shattered into a thousand pieces. "What lumbering company?"

"O'Connell & Co. Lumbering," Hodgins replied. "It's about a hundred miles from the forest, and our girl, Amy Oswald, was last seen during her dance class. The place is about twenty miles away, not very far."

"You couldn't let me have the glory?" Angela joked. Her expression and mood turned serious. "You, honey"—referring to Temperance—"have got to search for Booth. Now. It's not optional—it's mandatory."

Bones turned her head to her window—and let out a barely audible gasp-scream.


	4. Injuries

Lyra stood there, panicking on the inside

"Did you see that?" she whispered. To her, it appeared that there was a corpse standing, with its skin stripped off and the blood dripping on the floor. It waved to her, and she backed up. "Ange, I think there's something wrong with this case." Then the corpse disappeared into thin air. Bones rubbed her eyes tiredly and decided that she must have gotten far too much sleep over the past few days, which was perfectly true.

"I didn't see anything, honey, and you've got to get some sleep. It'll help, I promise." Angela gave her a hug and patted her shoulders. "It's been kind of rough, hasn't it?"  
"I...am not sure if rough is the right description, but it's definitely been trying." Temperance made Angela and Hodgins sit down on her couch, but then jumped back up. "Let's clean up my place first, or I can't sleep at all. No one could sleep in the same room as a corpse."

Everyone put on scrubs or their lab suits, goggles, gloves, and nose plugs before attacking the corpse. Brennan got out 409 and several rolls of paper towels to mop up the blood. Hodgins and Angela transported the corpse to the examining area, careful not to drip blood anywhere. It took a lot of work, and when Temperance was finished, she was hot and sweaty with the effort required to wash all the blood off her now clean floor.

"Whew," Angela sighed and took off her goggles. "Jesus, who knew that it'd take so much work to clean up a corpse?" She went to Brennan's computer and looked at all the cases. "Jesus," she repeated, "how the hell do you have so many cases?"

"Well, Cam gives all the important cases to me, and incidentally, many of the cases hold importance. How did someone come in without setting off the security system?"

"Hang on a sec." Angela went over to her computer and motioned for Brennan and Hodgins to come into her office. She began to type something in, and on the computer popped in the security system. "Now, we know that Booth's capture took place at 10:31 P.M., so let's see all the footage. I'll have to rewind the tapes...there." She clicked the mouse and the footage began rolling. In black and white at 10:29, there was Cam walking towards the door and Brennan and Booth standing together. After two minutes, the video suddenly became a blur of black-and-white video blizzard and a sound like hail falling interrupted the otherwise unsuspicious footage. At 10:37, the video went back to normal. "Huh. That's weird."

"Someone who has an intimate knowledge of the security system obviously knows how to hack into it or trick the system. Sadly, I don't think any of us know how to trace the hacker's trail." Hodgins shook his head and wrapped his arms around Angela. "I'm not that tech-savvy, and I don't think either of you know the computer or any technology that well. So we'll just have to watch and wait."

"Should we check out the lumber company?"

"Tomorrow..." he yawned and said simultaneously and flopped on Angela's couch.

That night, Brennan slept soundly, without a dream, despite her anticipation of a nightmare. When she woke up, she was in a relatively good mood and felt like, strangely, the strange fog in her head had cleared away. It was probably just lightheadedness; she reasoned to herself as she typed away on her computer and zoomed in on an X-ray of a victim's ulna. Based on the ossification and the length of the ulna, the victim was probably about in its fourth year. It was a pity that a person had to end his or her life so early, she thought, and pushed away from her desk when her stomach rumbled in hunger.

"Hey, you want to get a coffee?" Angela stood in her doorway. "Wow, it looks like a good night's sleep took ten years off your face."

"It feels as if it did," she said happily. She remembered that Booth was missing and that Parker had disappeared and the other events that came with those thoughts and her smile disappeared. She hadn't known that she was smiling until she dropped the smile. "We are going to spend some time investigating Booth's disappearance, aren't we?"

"Of course. Now, get some coffee so you can work until two in the morning tomorrow."

Later on in the day, about noon, Angela, Hodgins, and Cam came to her office, startling Temperance. She jumped, put down her fork for eating her lunch of chicken linguine, and turned around to face the three people standing in her office. She was uncomfortable with having many people in her office and looked nervously at all three. "Why are you three coming into my office? This is my work space."

"Yes, but I have now given you permission to go search for Booth." Cam crossed her arms and said, "Well, what are you waiting for? Go in the car with Angela and Hodgins to look. I've no time, but I can arrange, at least, for a few grad students from the university to power-drill down the number of cases." She walked out of Brennan's office and headed back to her own to make a few phone calls.

"That was just a bomb, but okay." Angela started walking toward the exit and the other two followed her. When she reached her car, she spun around, her wavy black hair flying. "I'm using my car for security purposes, so if you had any questions, this should satisfy them." She got into the driver's seat, while Brennan got in the passenger seat and Hodgins, reduced in status, sat in the back. "Where's this O'Connell & Co. lumbering company, Hodgins?"

"Um...it should be on Wernicke Street and Marigold Avenue." He craned his head, since he was sitting on the side of the backseat which was opposite of where the company was. "Now, this should match the particulates found in the victim's fracture, but keep in mind that there are other possibilities."

"Wernicke Street is the street where I live, Hodgins; I live on South Wernicke." Brennan turned to him, her eyes showing a mixture of confusion and concern for possibly herself. Her mind was churning again, and she felt as if she'd gladly sleep for a whole day if it meant that she wouldn't have to put Booth—or even worse, her—life into consideration again.

"Okay, we're here," Angela announced after twenty minutes of silence and staring out the window by the other two in the car. "Jeez, you guys are awfully quiet today, aren't you?" Both didn't answer when all three got out of the car and slammed the door without a word. Bones was lost in her own thoughts about Booth and Parker. Would she ever see them again? There had been times where Booth had been almost her best friend and he was the only man who dared to make jokes and yet accepted her for her pop-culture ignorance. Parker was Booth's son—how could she not care about him?

"Watch out, Bones!" Angela pulled her away from a car about to run her over, jerking Temperance out of her reflections. "You've really got to take more care of yourself! Don't get yourself run over—what would Booth say if he found out?" She turned her friend around by the shoulders so that their gaze met each other's. "Put your life into consideration. Put Booth and Parker's lives into consideration, and then go forward with your plan."

Brennan sighed. She knew Angela was trying to help her and she knew that she wanted to have a heart-to-heart talk, but near a lumbering company was scarcely the time for heartfelt conversations. "We should go, Ange. The more we delay in our investigation, the less time we'll have to go find Booth and Parker." She, as usual, was the first one to walk forward, after checking that she did have her ID.

"What do you want?" A man stepped forward as they entered the area of where the lumber was processed. "You'd better stand back and go somewhere safe—it's not the best place for any conversation." He led them to a clear area. Bones took a look around and noticed that a lumbering company mostly consisted of a huge concrete building.

"I'm Temperance Brennan, Forensic Anthropologist at the Jeffersonian National Institute; the two standing behind me are my assistants. I'm here to know whether you have any connections with a girl named Amy Oswald." She held up a folded-up picture in her jeans pocket. "May I ask for your position in this lumbering company and your name?"

The man folded his lean muscular arms. "I'm Andrew Lee. I'm the boss of this company, even though I dress casually. Yeah, I knew Amy. She's my ex-girlfriend. Now I have another girlfriend, Natalia. What happened to Amy?"

"She's dead," Angela interrupted Bone's attempt to speak. "She was murdered—burned in oil, had broken bones, skin sliced with a knife or knives, and went through a beating."

His face showed shock well enough. He leaned against the trunk of an SUV that reminded Brennan painfully of Booth. She hung her head while Andrew lightly punched the trunk of the car. "How the hell did she die?' When he lifted his face his face was totally sunken in sorrow. "I never wanted her to die, even though we had a row." His face hardened. "She slept with another man while we were engaged. I broke the engagement off and refused to have any other contact with her. She took it pretty okay."

"Do you know the names of Amy's parents? Being engaged, surely she must have told you about them at some point, or maybe she told you where they lived," Temperance said.

"Her parents are divorced. One, her mom, lives in New York and her dad lives in Los Angeles. Guess they wanted to be as far from each other as possible." He shrugged. "You got a piece of paper and pen? I'll write down their address." When Hodgins handed him his Bic pen and his notebook, Andrew wrote in cursive, right hand.

"Thanks." Angela took the notebook. "Oh, and you might wanna write where you live." She handed the notebook back, waited a second time, and then got the notebook back. "Thanks again." She turned to Brennan and Hodgins. "C'mon, let's get back in the car. We've got some other cases."

"Does he seem like the jealous guy or something?" Hodgins asked. "All right, we have a guy who's a possible suspect. Where are we going next?"

"To the dance studio, Hodgins—it's the next place we should check out, since she obviously spent a lot of time there." Bones took out her cell phone; to her surprise, it started ringing. There was a phone number, a set of numbers that seemed vaguely familiar. "Hello? Who's calling?"

"Hey, Bones? I need you to pick me up—please."

"Booth?" She frowned and pressed the speakerphone button. "What happened to you? Where are you?" Her heart started pounding. "We haven't seen you."

"Listen—I've only got a minute left. I know where they're taking me."

"Hodgins—get out your notebook—now!"

"Notebook ready," he reported and held his Bic pen.

"Okay," Booth said clearly, "For tomorrow on Magnolia Way. Write them exactly as I tell you."

Right then, Bones clicked the recording button on her recorder and held it up to her cell phone.

"For tomorrow on Magnolia Way; I'll be there." The phone clicked on its cradle as Booth hung up.

"You got it, Hodgins?" she shouted to the front.

"Got it!" He turned around. "Again, I think it's in code. I can understand Magnolia Way—I think it's the street where the dance studio is located on." He tapped his pen, deep in thought, and after ten minutes, exclaimed, "I got it!"

"Well, what's the message? Come on, don't be shy about it."

"42 Morrow Street and Magnolia Way—it's where he's located. Are there any buildings there?"

Bones racked her memories for any recollection. At first she thought it was where there was a florist's shop, but she remembered that she had driven by several hundred times on the way to Wong Fu's. There was a warehouse, an old, abandoned warehouse with several large windows. "There's a warehouse that's on the left side. I think there's also another warehouse on the right. I don't know which warehouse he's in, or if he's hidden, but he's there."

"Go, go, go!" Hodgins urged Angela. "If you have to floor it and pass the speed limit, then go!"

"Just, whatever you do, don't get stopped for a ticket. That will slow us down." She craned her head to the left—she was sitting on the right—and said, "Wait! You just passed 42 Morrow Street! Go back, go back!" The car stopped with a jerk that made her head nearly hit the front window. "Okay, get out any type of weapons you have." She took the Colt out of her purse, loaded it (the gun had been emptied from her past escapade), and got out of the car, slamming shut the door quietly.

It was somehow exciting to put her life on the line. She was right: there were two warehouses parallel to each other. Angela and Hodgins took their place beside her so that they faced out, two taking the guard of the two warehouses and the entrance to 42 Morrow while the other, Hodgins, faced the back of the road. No cars drove by, but they could hear footsteps. The three relaxed their stance, but kept a close eye, wary of any surprises.

"There!" Hodgins shouted. He leapt forward to three men sneakily walking past so that they were nearly invisible. The men also leapt at him and began punching him. The other two girls came to his rescue. Bones wasn't hesitant to take part in the fight—if it was for Booth it was a good cause—and slammed a fist to the man's nose. Her knuckles hurt, but it couldn't have hurt as much as that man's nose, because blood was streaming down his face and he groaned in pain.

"Take that, you bastard," Angela grunted as she tried to keep a man in a headlock. "You deserve that for putting Booth in here."

"Bones—I'm here!" Booth tried to walk forward but fell. Temperance immediately abandoned her position and ran over to him. His face was covered in bruises, scratches, and there was a wound on his cheek that leaked crimson blood all over his suit. She also noticed with alarm that a wrist was in the wrong position. "I'm okay, I'll be fine."

"No, you don't look fine," she breathed. "We've got to get you to a hospital. I'll drive you there after I take care of those three guys."

"No, no, those aren't the guys you want to punish," he said desperately. "Don't kill them, or he'll be after us. I don't know his name, but I can give you a description." He panted as his knees buckled and he nearly fell to the ground again. She had to lift him up with as much force and gentleness as she could to prevent him falling again.

"It's okay," she shouted to Hodgins and Angela. "They're not the guilty ones. Stop beating them up and help me get Booth to the hospital!" In an undertone she added, "Though they're probably done beating them up by the looks of it." The three men were lying in a heap; one was unconscious, and two men were semi-conscious and evidently in pain.

The three people carried Booth to the backseat of the car while Bones sat with him in the back. "It's okay, you'll be okay," she murmured softly to him. "It's not fatal, is it? They didn't inject anything into you?"

"No, I don't think so." He groaned as the car passed over a large bump, which jerked Brennan's head forward. "Be careful, Bones. Stay at the Jeffersonian—the hospital's depressing enough as it already is. Don't get yourself depressed, and show your face as little as possible."

"I have to show my face, Booth; I'm in charge of the investigation after Cam found out what happened to you."

"Oh, I'm going to beat the crap out of her when I can." As soon as he saw her concerned face, he added hastily, "I was just kidding. Can't you take a joke?"

"Well, you must know that I'm glad that you can joke. It shows that you have enough energy. We're nearly to the hospital, Booth, so don't mind the huge bump. It's only three minutes away." The car passed over a bump that made everyone half jump out of their seats, just like a roller coaster, and their stomachs dropped before settling back in their rightful place. "All right, we're at the hospital."

They carried Booth into the lobby. "I think we should've called 911," Angela muttered to Hodgins, who gave such a chuckle that everyone looked up in surprise. "But, oh, well, it's so short from the warehouse to the hospital so that it doesn't really matter." She looked up to the man running the front desk. "Hey, is there a place where we can put this poor guy? He's really beat up."

"Uh..." he wavered and used his telephone. "I request Dr. Schumann—a man has been injured severely. Get a stretcher and take him to Room 204 for examination." He turned to them and said, "Wait here. They'll be here in a minute or so. Stretch him out on a bench—it should work." He turned back to his computer, but every once in a while he stole a few glances at Booth.

"It's okay," Angela comforted her best friend.

"Whoever who tried to kill Booth must feel Schadenfreude, watching people he captured suffer." She held Booth's hand for a moment before reluctantly letting go. "Are you sure he'll be fine, Ange?"

"I'm positively sure, as sure as Hodgins and I will have sex sometime over the next week." Angela put an arm around Bone's shoulder and a left hand in Hodgins's palm before watching the assumed Dr. Schumann take a look at Booth and order the stretcher.

Back in her office, no one seemed to take notice that Temperance was Booth's friend, not even Angela, who was wrapped up in her own work. Hodgins did his work as usual, but Brennan could feel a tension between them because they were sharing a common experience. Cam seemed, also, to not take much notice of her. As the rest of her work life flashed by, she felt as if she was swallowed into an abyss, unable to escape from something she couldn't name. At last, night came, and when she sat down in her office chair and started contributing to her newest novel, she felt sorely for Booth's missing presence, his voice, his laughter.

The whole building was silent save for Angela's typing and Hodgins eating his Ramen noodles. There just wasn't something right about the Jeffersonian—it had to be full of energy, of life. Bones spun around in her chair to the doorway, half expecting Booth to come walking in with a sarcastic or sardonic comment or question. Booth couldn't even call to let her know about his condition?

_Isn't someone missing me? Isn't someone caring about me? You mean if I die, you wouldn't care about me, of my life?_ She bit her lower lip so hard her bite drew blood, sweet and coppery blood. She knew that her father couldn't call her, but still. She just wished someone would ask her more than the usual questions of "How are you?" and usual reassurance of "It'll be okay."

_ If I bleed, Booth, will you care? No—this is irrational. Booth is your friend. Of course he cares about you, and all your friends are concerned about your welfare. Booth should be the one you direct your attention to._

Shaking the reddish-brown wavy hair out of her eyes, she resumed her work with a sinking mood and heart.

_**I'm sorry it took so long to update a chapter—I had nearly no time, so do forgive me. Review, please! It'd make a starting writer happier. **_


	5. Shot

Lyra stood there, panicking on the inside

_**If there's something about a Lyra and her panicking, sorry—that's my document doing some weird things.**_

"Hey, how are you?" She heard her boots clack against the tile floor as she went close to him. "You look much better. The last time I saw you, your face was gray." Bones could hardly stand seeing her fellow work-mate being so severely injured; he was bandaged up everywhere. She tried to make her voice as cheerful and optimistic as she could, even though, in truth, she felt like breaking down after several days of not hearing from him and being alone. She was stuck on other investigations until he was recovered, and it would take a month before he was finished recovering. "Well, you can get out in one month. You might be able to get out in less time if only you'd sleep." He had dark half-moons under his eyes.

"Don't worry about me."

"How can I not worry about you, Booth? You are my work-mate and therefore I do possess a certain degree of...affection for anyone I extend my friendship towards." Without noticing it, she started to slip back toward cold and unfriendly speech, sentences that had stiff structures, rigid and unyielding. Once she noticed, though, she kept her mouth shut and diverted all of her attention on his face.

"Bones, can you please not go into that type of talking now? I don't really like that, you know." He tried to turn around and was successful in his attempt to sit up. "Ah—that's more comfortable," he let out a breath. "Lying on your back isn't that much fun when you're staring at the ceiling, bored."

"I'm going to Sweets in two hours," she blurted out just for small talk to fill up the space between them. Ever since Booth had been missing, there was a certain degree of closeness that was missing as well. "I'm not sure what he'll say when he finds out that you've been injured this way." She shifted slightly when she walked even closer, twiddling her thumbs on the hospital bed rail. "Thank God you called me, Booth—I don't know who captured you, but I'll find him or her."

"It's a he," he replied promptly. "There was a male voice." Booth stared straight into her eyes, while she met his brown-black eyes with a mixture of defiance and hesitation. "I don't care what Cam says you have to do—get this guy. After all, he hurt me. Use that anger and go find him."

"Booth, I'm not going to sacrifice your life again. I can think of at least two reasons why you would be injured even in a hospital if I go find him."

"Oh, yeah?" he challenged.

"Booth," she repeated, exasperated. "If they know I'm looking for you, they would kill you to prevent you from leaking out information. Secondly, those guys are dangerous—they don't hesitate to wound and kill. I know that much, seeing from how hurt you are."

"I'll be fine. Hospitals have security cameras."

"No—I'm getting everybody to get shifts, okay? That's the only way we can make sure you're okay."

"No—I don't want any fussing, Bones."

"If you want to get injured and possibly killed a second time, Booth, that's fine," she sighed. "If you don't, then we'll do shifts on you, like we did...for _him_." Brennan was uncomfortable saying Zack's name in this hospital, knowing that he had been loved in the squint team and he'd had so much potential as an anthropologist. He'd been burned, miscalculating the amount of chemicals and the time on the burner to create a diversion. He'd been in the hospital and he couldn't do much now. Now, since they'd put in an appeal to take Zack out of the psychological ward and reduce his prison term, he was allowed to go to work as an intern but had to return to his jail cell.

"Fine—keep shifts if you want." He groaned when he tried to lift his arm.

"Booth, please rest." She gently put his hand back down on the bed and hesitated before giving him a gentle kiss on the forehead. Somehow, just kissing him on his forehead made her lips tingle pleasurably, but she pulled back slowly and walked out of the hospital without another word. She must always keep a tight rein on her mind from now on.

"Hodgins, shouldn't we check out the dance studio?" Bones queried when he was appearing to be bored and examining the same particles over and over. "You already found the particulates in the ulna as concrete, blood, and pollen." When he didn't answer, she said, "Well, I'm going to check the dance studio out. If you need me, call me on my cell phone."

Angela came by, her high heels clacking on the floor. "I'm not sure Cam gave us permission for today, but I've already done other cases. I'd guess that Cam's just trying to keep us in for boredom. C'mon—we've got more interesting things to do today."

"Um...Angela?" Brennan said, seeing a familiar, dark-haired figure come up behind her friend. "I think Cam could have possibly overheard your words."

Cam chuckled. "Don't worry. I give you permission to work on the investigation. Oh, Dr. Brennan, by the way, there's a new intern: Emma Varney. She's a good, hard-working girl, and she seems to be a bit on the shy side. Well, she would really like the position of intern, anyway, and we should be able to pull a couple of grad students in here while you guys work on your case. Until you're done, you work on the case. It's as simple as that."

"Cam, there is a matter that may be of your attention: Booth is still in danger. I propose that we keep shifts for his safety." Brennan crossed her arms in a defensive gesture. "He could be still hunted by the people who tried to capture him, for all we know."

She hesitated. After thinking about it for a little while, at last she nodded her head and raised her hands in a gesture of defeat. "Okay, that sounds reasonable. I'll map out shifts, and you're taking the first one," Cam said before walking back to her office.

"The dance studio, then?"

"That sounds about good." Angela kissed Hodgins and all three headed to the car. Bones steeled herself for the night shift. She was already exhausted; she fell asleep in the car while it was rumbling over the highways. She leant her head against the window on her right and felt her forehead bump repeatedly on the glass. She adjusted her seatbelt so that she was more comfortable. As her eyelids fluttered and she lost consciousness, she vaguely heard Angela say, "She's really tired. I wish there was something we could do, you know?" to Hodgins. Then she fell, blissfully, into dark and deep sleep. Even while she was sleeping, she felt that she hadn't slept like this, without worries, since she was a little girl.

The next thing she knew, the car ceased motion and she was being shaken awake by Angela and Hodgins. She reluctantly opened her eyes; she didn't want to wake up. Even so, it took five minutes for her body to store enough energy to get up from the car and stretch groggily. "We're at the dance studio, aren't we?" she asked more to herself than her companions. Girls in tutus and leotards were dancing _en pointe _and, unfortunately, Brennan noticed, many looked rather anorexic. One girl looked almost like a skeleton, with prominent cheekbones, extremely thin arms, and jutting-out clavicles.

"Oh, my God," she uttered to Angela and Hodgins. "In what condition do they keep these girls under? They look like models—it's completely unethical!"

"I know..." Angela muttered. "Jesus, what the hell do they do to these girls? They must be mad." After checking that no one had overheard their conversation (such as a doting mother, a strict believer of ballet, anyone of that sort...) she nodded for all of them to check that they had their IDs and they walked into the studio.

"One, two, three...sweep your legs gracefully, Maryusha, or you'll get points deducted in the competition. Now, Anna, hold your leg out in that arabesque just so..." a dance teacher with red hair gently held supported a blond-haired girl's tights-and-ribbon-covered ankle and had the girl tilt her head just a bit back. "Perfect. Now, Maryusha, you must remember your form and your hands; both need to be expressive..._bon, tres bon_." The teacher looked up at the two women and one man interrupting the class. "May I ask who you three are?" she said with a French accent.

"Dr. Brennan, Forensic Anthropologist at the Jeffersonian," Bones replied smoothly with a hand swiftly taking out her ID. "We're here to ask you questions about Amy Oswald."

"Amy?" the teacher asked and frowned. "Oh, goodness, she was such a sweet girl. She was my top dancer in the professional level class. She hasn't been in any competitions—she said she had to reserve time for her lover. However, a few months ago, in September or so, she said that she was ready for competition."

"Do you have any guesses at why she might want to suddenly go to competition level?"

"No." The teacher shrugged. "I'm Tatiana Marquette, the teacher here. I don't encourage my girls to starve themselves, if that's what you were wondering. I saw you looking at their figures; they do it for the competition guidelines—nowadays society wants them to be skeletons. Pah!" she said in disgust. "They only do it for the art."

"Do you know anything else odd about Amy Oswald?" Angela interrupted Brennan's next question. "I mean, she was pretty, but I need to know anything else, like, for example, was she anorexic or bulimic? Could she have any enemies?" She crossed her arms and waited for an answer.

Tatiana adjusted her tights and checked her thin dance wrap-around top. "Her parents died long ago. She was only nineteen, and I think she took a job somewhere. Now she's about twenty-one or so, and she has a job somewhere...I don't know where. She never told me." Ms. Marquette dismissed the rest of the young women and turned back to the trio. "My husband approved of Amy. Why are you asking these questions?"

Angela looked to Brennan and then Hodgins with a sad smile on her face. "I'm sorry, but Amy's dead. She was killed a week ago."

"_Mon Dieu!_" Tatiana exclaimed before gasping. "How on earth did she get...killed?" Hurriedly, she shut the door separating the dance studio from the changing rooms. "How could a girl like her be...Dr. Brennan, did she do something wrong?"

"Ms. Marquette, I know this may upset you, but anyone, even Amy, may be suspected of events or actions that may contribute to the reason of their murder, such as...dealing drugs or—"

"No! Amy could not have been so...ah, what am I doing? I ought to let you do your job." She put a thin hand to her forehead and shook her head slightly. "As far as I'm concerned, she's never done anything good, although she was on the thin side, even for competitions—I don't know what she's doing—what she did—but she wouldn't degrade herself."

"Ms. Marquette, anyone desperate for money would do anything, even such a girl."

"Um, Tempe, this isn't exactly the comment she wants to hear," Angela coughed purposely. Turning to the dance teacher, she said, "Ms. Marquette, we will do everything to ensure that Amy's death will be avenged. I promise that we will work on this case, day and night, until we find what happened—"

"Ms. Marquette, did you go to California recently?" Hodgins interjected. "Anywhere near giant sequoias?"

"I went to California, but that was two months ago."

"You see, Amy was murdered within the time frame of two weeks to three weeks. Are you sure that it was exactly two months ago that you came back here?"

"Yes, I am exactly sure," she said shakily. "On October 1st, I returned from California. My passport says so." She looked him directly in the eye; whether a sign of defiance or a sign that she was telling the truth, Bones couldn't really tell.

Brennan wished she had Booth along with her; she missed his presence around her. "On October 1st?" Temperance asked. "Can you repeat that again?" She clicked ON for her voice recorder.

Tatiana sighed. "Yes, I returned home from California on October 1st. I don't remember the exact time—somewhere in the morning, I should think." She put a hand to her temple again. "I have the next dance class in five minutes. If you wish to enquire more, then please enquire between nine in the morning and ten-thirty in the morning."

When the car was going back towards the Jeffersonian, Angela suggested, "Why don't we get Amy's parents together?" When Bones nodded her approval and Hodgins said "Yes," she directed her attention back to the road. There was an awkward lack of noise in the car, and everyone tried to fill the space up with small talk, but they failed. Then she said, "I wish there were more pretty girls like Amy alive than dead."

"Angela," Bones started, "it's a patriarchal form of society. Men have the ruling hand in this society: all of our fashion industry is geared toward men, all forms of makeup are towards men, most of the good positions in jobs go to men, and all the men have higher pay. It's not surprising that a man too overtaken by his hormones would commit an act of rape—"

"But I still think it's better than having no society, though—"

"Technically, there is no such thing as having no society. Humans started with no society, but they had a way of ranking themselves by their reproductive ability or by their ability to provide food for their family members..." She stopped, not eager to enter an argument in her best friend, not when Booth was injured and they had more important matters to attend to. "I'm sorry, Angela. It's just that Booth is hurt, and I'm very short-tempered right now."

Angela blew out a breath. "It's okay, Brennan. Look, why don't we go to Frankie's Diner for a lunch? I'm starved. Anyone want a hamburger, fries, and milkshakes?"

"Angela, you and Hodgins can go, but I have to be taken back to the Jeffersonian." Even though she said those words, she secretly dreaded going back to the Jeffersonian. Her workplace had become far too familiar, and it was nearly _sickening_ to go back to her workplace when all she wanted to do was go back to her own place and relax by herself, not with the company of janitors bustling around, cleaning the deceptively sterile-looking surfaces of the Jeffersonian.

As if Bone's best friend could read her mind, Angela interrupted the silence again. "Don't you ever get tired of staying at the Jeffersonian, day after day? It must get tedious after a while. C'mon, break the rules. It's not like Cam's going to know."

"The rule is for my own safety, Ange. I don't want to get shot, so could you just bring a hamburger, fries, and milkshake back to the Jeffersonian for me?" she insisted. "I'm not saying that I don't get bored; I do, but it's for my own safety. I'm not saying that I don't get homesick, either. I do, but again, I don't want to be killed, or for Booth to nearly—or really—sacrifice his life again."

"Okay." She drove back to the Jeffersonian. Brennan got out of the car and went back to her office to further study the strange scapula before Angela came back with her treat of junky food. She looked closer at the computer screen and zoomed 5,000 times into the bone. Oddly enough, it looked like it had been cut with a sharp knife, but a serrated one. She couldn't think of any knife that was serrated except for a bread knife. What, she thought sarcastically, am I supposed to expect that the victim got killed with a bread knife? Oh, that's very believable.

Bones had a sudden thought. "Hey, Cam," she said when she came into Cam's office. "Is it possible for a bread knife to be used as a weapon? Or is it possible that somebody used a saw to cut the bone?"

"Umm, I don't know." Cam looked up from her computer. "Where are Angela and Hodgins?"

"They're out getting hamburgers and milkshakes for lunch."

"I'll ask them for an extra hamburger and soda." She took out her cell phone and dialed Hodgins. "Hey, Hodgins, could you ask Angela to get another hamburger and a soda for me? Uh, no, get Brennan's hamburger and milkshake and add my order on top of that, okay? Okay, thanks." She turned back to her best forensic anthropologist. "Did you find out anything important about Amy?"

"Yeah. She used to hate competition, but a few months ago, she said she wanted to go to competition level. Her parents died when she was nineteen, and she has an unknown job. Her parents are divorced; one lives in New York, one lives in California...Los Angeles, I think. She had a fiancé, but apparently, she had an affair with another man and the engagement broke up."

Cam sat back. "Wow. That's a lot of information. Can you get the name of the guy she had an affair with and get her parents together?"

"It's a plausible request. It shouldn't be impossible," she half lied. However, inwardly, she was dreading the information she had to relay to Amy's parents. No one wanted to be the messenger of death, and no one liked the messenger of death, especially when the death occurred to a member of the family. Relaying the information seemed impossible to her, and it was impossible to anyone with a heart.

"Hang on, I've got a call." Cam picked up her phone. "Yeah? What? What happened to Hodgins? Oh, no—crap, that's bad. Wait one sec; I'll drive to the diner. You guys just stay there and help him, okay? Okay, don't panic—yes, I'll be there. Bye."

Temperance's heart started pounding. "What happened to Hodgins, Cam?" She could even feel her palms begin to sweat, so she wiped her hands on her jeans.

"Hodgins was shot."


	6. Shot Heard Around the World

Lyra stood there, panicking on the inside

_**If there's something about a Lyra and her panicking, sorry—that's my document doing some weird things. And sorry I took so long to update, but I had a slew of several things going on at once. I had writer's block as well. **_

"How is he?" Cam asked when she reached the hospital and saw Angela speaking to Hodgins.

"He was only shot in the arm, thank God, but it must hurt like hell." She looked down concernedly to her much-beloved boyfriend and sighed at the blood on his bandages. "It's really bloody."

"I can see that." Cam sighed and gave a good-bye wave to Hodgins. "I've got more work to do, and we can't afford to slow down too much on our cases. But we'll try to keep shifts."

"How was the extrication of the bullet?" Bones asked.

"Painful," Hodgins grunted. "Damn it, why does there have to be a killer out there?" He relaxed when Angela kissed him, and he closed his eyes. "I think I'll just take a break here. You guys go back to the lab."

"No, we're keeping shifts," Angela insisted. "And I'll take the first one."

"I'll go back too," Brennan said but stopped midway through the sentence with a yawn before continuing. "I have a book to write and I have a case that involves you two and Booth..." She yawned again. She was so _tired_. Every single, plodding day had been devoted to doing all the work split between two partners, and she was inexperienced at some of the work, as much as she didn't like to think about being naive. She had never appreciated Booth's line of work, but now she felt that her partner deserved a reward. And now that she did two jobs, Booth and her own, she only had about three to five hours of sleep a night. She had never known the true meaning of exhaustion before, but now she knew: it was bone-aching, tear-jerking, and just plain damn felt like she never wanted to get up again.

"No, honey." Angela put a hand on her friend's wrist. "You're staying here, and you're going to keep watch over Booth. He's in the room next door, so if something goes wrong, call me either on my phone or yell. You need a break. I've never seen you look so..."

Brennan smiled, but stifled it before Angela could see. "I'll go next door, if it'll please you, and keep watch over Booth." She walked over to the next room and made sure Booth was asleep before going in. Her efforts were in vain, though, because as soon as she sat down, he woke up. He just stared at her, she stared at him, and no words came to her lips. She couldn't possibly speak when they had...tension...they were fighting, after all!

"Hey, Bones," he muttered sleepily. "How's life going in general?"

She kept her mouth shut. She didn't dare to speak.

"You don't need to do the silent treatment anymore, Bones. C'mon, humor me for once?"

She looked into his brown eyes, and she saw that he really was desperate for conversation. For some reason, the eye contact felt intimate...it was as if he had given her a hug, because she felt a wave of heat rising through her body. "Well, as you are very well aware, I am now running two jobs for you, and I am tired of running two jobs."

"It's not my fault, Bones—"

"I'm not implying that it's your fault. It's the enemy's fault, and so we'll solve the case."

"Any clues on finding Parker, Bones?"

This was the one question she was dreading. "N-no," Bones answered with a sigh. "We can't find any clue except for a picture and Hodgins is trying to analyze all the particulates. The last time we put in the type of particulates he found, we thought that the computer had gone haywire." She ran a hand through her hair and took in a deep breath through her nostrils. "This day is not going particularly well for me."

"You should rest, Bones." When she saw that he was motioning her to come over to his side, she did so. Booth sat up and sighed also. "Look, when I'm fine, I promise I'll make it up to you. And I know Hodgins is in the next room—he was shot. Just promise me one thing: find Parker for me, please. He's my son."

"I promise," she said.

"You're exhausted. Your eyes are barely open. Go to sleep."

"No—what if something happens to you?" It was true, her eyelids were fluttering, but she rubbed her eyes and forced sleep to lift from her eyes. "I can't stand any more disappearances."

"Keep watch until morning, and then sleep, okay? If that's any consolation, there are nurses around me."

"I'll stay awake..." When Booth went to sleep, she smiled at him and kept watch until she felt tiredness force her eyelids down and then she slept soundly.

Once she was sure Booth would be fine, she returned back to the Jeffersonian with Angela in Angela's car. "Wow, it's unbelievable how crappy things can get," Angela said, frustrated. "We're going nowhere with the case."

"I'm working on the case, all right?" Bones suddenly felt a wave of irritation sweep over her, making everything seem rough and coarse. "I'm going to work on it, and Parker is going to be found." She leant her head against the window and watched the view sweep past her in a blur.

She glanced at her friend. "Bones, I wasn't talking about you. I mean, you're tired, and I acknowledge that." She turned on the radio, which was blasting a light metal/rock song. "Ooh, Bring Me to Life, that's a good one."

"I need your help."

"How do you need my help?"

"I need you to help me plug in coordinates of where Parker could possibly be."

"Okay, but how am I supposed to do that?"

"Well, naturally, you being close to Hodgins, I assumed that you would know how to use his computer to do that."

Angela looked at her. "Okay, but do me a favor."

"Well, what is it?" Brennan smiled at Angela. There was always a funny-ish catch to her favors.

"Do no more assumptions, okay?"

"I promise."

"But in this case, you're right."

"Do me a favor, will you?"

"Sure. What is it?"

"Booth has been complaining about my lack of knowledge in modern culture, so would you explain to me if this song on the radio is in English or not?"

"It's in English...here, I found the lyrics. They're in the glove compartment. Just to warn you, though, it's a bit emo."

"What's that mean?" Brennan had never heard of the word "emo," and it sounded unscientific. It was slang.

"It means overly emotional." When her friend didn't show any sign of understanding, Angela went on: "You know...cutting your wrists, listening to depressing songs, being depressed yourself, have this "I hate the world" attitude...need I explain any further?"

"No...I think I've got the point that you so helpfully tried to convey," Temperance said. "When we're back at the Jeffersonian, help me."

The two women arrived, but a man in a UPS uniform stopped them. "There's a package for Dr. Temperance Brennan." Brennan stepped forward, signed the clipboard, and was handed the package. "Thank you," the man said, and retreated to his truck before she could make a proper reply.

"Well, is there a bomb inside?" Angela asked. "For all you know, it could be a bomb, and who—there's only one name: Eris. Isn't Eris the goddess of discordance?"

"If it is a bomb, I'd know. But let's bring a dog over here to check." Once the dog came, it sniffed the package but didn't bark. "It's not a bomb."

"Okay, okay, you're right. But what's in there?"

She used a knife with trembling fingers. She tightened her grip around the handle, and successfully opened it. But what she saw made her nauseous. "Angela..." Temperance's heart started to pound.

"Oh, my God." The view was a picture of Parker, obviously mistreated and crying. Blood was running down his face, adding to the grotesqueness of the picture. How could such a child be...beaten and hidden? He didn't have anything to do with the case. Or did he? "We've got to show Booth this."

"No! We'll examine if there are any particulates on the photo that can help us plug in the coordinates." Bones took the photo in with gloves, careful not to shake any particulates by cupping her other hand, and rushed it into the Jeffersonian's examination platform with microscopes. Then she put the photo into the microscope's vision and magnified it several thousand times. "Aha—there are particulates. Can you identify them?" She stepped respectfully aside for her friend.

Angela shook her hair away from her line of vision, but tied her hair up when she decided it was going to block her view. She shook her necklace away and squinted into the microscope. "Um...it seems to be from...what's the type of trees in Yosemite?"

"Giant sequoias, do you mean that?"

"Yeah. But there are dirt particles, and I'm not sure exactly what the composition is. We'll have to wait until Hodgins gets back."

"But giant sequoias don't tell us anything. The killer could live anywhere with giant sequoias." An idea suddenly struck her. "Wait—plug in the numbers from that email that Booth got. You know...something like 1764...26...I forgot the last one."

"29, that's the last number. You're a genius!" Angela smiled and plugged them in. "Um...1764 could be the building number of a bunch of buildings in anywhere, 29 could be the number of an assortment of apartment homes, same as 26, or they could all mean... You know, 1764 could be the year 1764."

"Start with that. Start with buildings that could be made in 1764—in the U.S.A., just to narrow down our search."

After a while, Angela looked up. "Um, there's at least several hundreds of buildings made in 1764. And what do you want me to do now?"

"Type in 26 for anything—we need any references." She was desperate to find Parker—she couldn't break her promise to Booth. And especially after this picture, she was especially determined to find Parker and keep Booth safe.

The search proved impossible, and by the time they had gotten to examine the microscope's contents, Cam had ordered them to take a break and get some Ramen noodles. The two women walked to the microwave, but Cam walked with them too, her shiny black ponytail swinging. "Who's going to take the night shift for Booth?" Cam asked while she slurped her Ramen.

Bones looked away, hesitant to draw attention. She wanted, so much, to make sure he was fine, that he would survive—and there was danger that the people who hurt him might come again.

"Well, no one offers?"

"I'll take the night shift," Brennan said without her mind registering her words. She clapped a hand over her mouth once she realized what she'd done.

Cam and Angela both raised their eyebrows simultaneously. "Well, someone's eager," Cam chuckled while Angela drank her extra-sweet coffee with purpose. "All right, you can take the night shift, but Angela's coming with you—she's taking the night shift for Hodgins, and I'll come along to make sure you two don't get shot or anything." She chuckled.

Angela and Bones looked at her. "You know, Cam, that's a terrible joke," they both said in unison.

When they arrived at the hospital, Angela said, "Okay, Brennan—he's waiting for you." Bones blushed, a tinge of pink spreading faintly across her pale cheeks, but she walked over to the room. She couldn't begin to sort out her feelings, but she had a suspicion that deep inside, she did like Booth.

"How are you?" Bones asked to Booth, who was actually looking a lot better and had some color in his face.

"Ah, well, you know, better." He shrugged and motioned for her to come to his side. "Hey, what've you got about Parker?"

This was the part she didn't want to tell him. Without her being conscious of it, her throat began to constrict her breathing and a burning liquid seemed to run through her veins. "I..."

"Well?" This time, even though he said it gently, it hurt her.

She swallowed her tears. She would _not _cry. "Parker—we don't have any clue about where he is," she managed to say in a relatively steady voice. But she wanted to cry again, make the perfect scene, have her friends comfort her—and once she swallowed her tears, she couldn't cry. Her jaw was clenched—but why was her jaw clenched? There was no danger of her betraying her emotions, so she unclenched her jaw. Her throat still felt constricted by a lump in her throat.

"You've been working?" Booth's eyes lost all their shine. It was as if a black hole in his pupils had swallowed all signs of hope.

"I've been working, Booth." She put a hand to her forehead—her head was throbbing painfully. Every few seconds, it beat hard enough so that she felt sick, and on top of that, Brennan felt she was unable to release her emotions. "I've been working hard." When he didn't reply, all the exhaustion suddenly turned to burning rage. And before she had a chance to check herself, she said, strained, "What do you want from me? I'm running two jobs. I took over this whole day to find Parker. Angela even helped, and we have been searching for any sign, any clue, and here you come in and say, 'That's not enough.' I'm tired, Booth, do you know what the definition of that is?" Again, he didn't say anything. She shut her mouth up—it was _wrong_ to say so much, to make an outburst, to hurt anyone's feelings.

"I'm sorry."

The two—technically three, since one was only a contraction—words were uttered so quietly that she had to say, "Pardon?"

"I'm sorry," Booth repeated, and she could tell he meant it. "I'm sorry I've been forcing so much on you." He sighed.

Great—now she felt guilty. A knife of shame and sadness stabbed into her heart. "I'm sorry—I didn't mean to say so much, like that. I don't usually have outbursts—our usual ritual is to quarrel over some silly thing while I do all the examination and you do all the psychology and paperwork." Her voice, unintentionally, cracked, and she swallowed before it could progress further. There—she had swallowed the lump in her throat and now it would be fine. "No—don't feel sorry for yourself." She reached out a hand to touch his, and he seemed to find comfort in her touch, because he put both of his hands on her right hand. "It's only me, nothing more. You'll be out soon—you just rest."

He smiled at her comfortingly. And then all of a sudden, he tilted her head into a kiss.

She felt drunk, intoxicated. His lips were so soft—and then his hands, his touch electrifying—she closed her eyes and sighed. She didn't know what to do, she felt awkward, but she let him take over. His touch seemed to make her bones ache, her skin tingle in a way she'd never felt before. A song ran through her head: _Wake me up, wake me up inside, I can't wake up, wake me up inside, save me, call my name and save me from the dark. Wake me up, bid my blood to run, I can't wake up, before I come undone, save me, save me from the nothing I've become. _And then she focused on the kiss only, focused on his lips on hers, focused on what she felt. And Temperance was frozen—she couldn't move her arms for fear of the wrong movement. But she had to break apart, briefly, for air. _Frozen inside without your touch, without your love, darling, only you are the life among the dead. _

She looked into his face, but he leant in for another kiss before she could make a complete exchange of breath. She inhaled before she came back in, her face already drawn to his. As soon as their lips met again, she felt her heart pound. "Booth..." she muttered under breath the next time they parted.

The spell broke then. Booth broke apart, averting his eyes. She stood back and nearly tripped over the leg of a chair. And when she took in another breath, she felt a tear slip down her cheeks. She had to stop—she wouldn't allow herself to be weak when she'd been tough all her life. She needed to be tough—a kiss couldn't undo her, an insulting message couldn't break her, exclusion couldn't hurt her. She wiped the tear off her cheek and turned to the wall to regain composure before turning around again. She felt undressed, naked, when she was put in an awkward situation.

"Were you crying?" His voice was hoarse, so he cleared his throat.

"No," she managed to say, but it came out an octave higher than her usual voice. She cleared her throat as well. "I—I'm speechless." _I'm speechless?_ She smiled at her words.

He sighed and grinned at her. For some reason, she felt as if her body had no substance—she was floating in delight, in bliss, in _love_. She frowned—in love? Surely she didn't love Booth? But she did—that was the worst part, admitting she loved him.

Somehow, they resumed normal conversation, but Angela came in. "Um...guys, I have an idea what the numbers in Booth's email might be."

"Well, what is it?" Brennan was the one, as always, to ask the question. Just feeling that she had the power to answer a question fortified her.

"Nothing good, I can tell you that. It's a riddle. Hodgins figured it out. 1764 is the apartment complex number. 26 and 29, when you add them, are 55. 55 is the apartment number. Now, the other meaning of 26 and 29 we can't figure out. It could mean Johannesburg, Africa in latitude and longitude..."

"Maybe 26 and 29 are street numbers. There's a 26th and 29th Street here. It's only a matter of a few miles away."

"That's it, Bones, you're a genius!" Booth clapped his hands together. "Well, let's go!"

"You're not going. You're staying. We're all staying."

A bang was heard from the other room. Everybody jumped and their nerves immediately felt numb with shock.

"What was that?" Angela asked, more to herself than to her friends. Bones and Angela hurried over to the next room. The first thing that was registered in Bone's mind was that Cam was lying on the floor. The second thing that came was that Cam had a pool of crimson blood underneath her.


	7. Who Is She?

_**I'm back from my trip, and I'm updating! Writer's block, trips, stuff starting up again—that really delays the next chapter. Sorry, and read and review! **_

"Doctor!" Angela yelled to the doorway. "Person was shot!" Turning to Cam—"Oh, my God, I swear, you'd better live, you hear me?"

"She's still alive," Temperance reported after a terrifying moment where she'd put her index and middle finger on Cam's jugular vein. "She has a pulse—very faint, but a pulse, nevertheless."

"Thank God."

A doctor came in and stared in shock at Cam for a minute before quickly calling out for a gurney and some nurses. "A person was injured!" He looked at Brennan and Angela. "Did you see who did it? Well—I know she was shot—there's glass on the floor. We'll need someone to pick the glass up as well. Why don't you two head on over to the lobby?"

"We're going to go next door. There's a friend of ours there," Angela said evenly. No one would've known that she had been panicked a moment before but for her and her friend.

"I'll take care of this woman you call Cam then," the doctor dismissed them. "She'll need to be examined where the bullet has entered and how to extricate it."

"Great, three people shot—this is gonna go very well for the Jeffersonian," said Angela, an edge of sarcasm evident in her voice. "C'mon, then, we've still got to do the interview." In the car going back to the Jeffersonian, neither she nor Bones said anything of substance. They mostly let the radio, which was blasting the exact same song they'd heard about 15 hours earlier, and Bones was surprised to find that the song that had been running through her head when she'd kissed Booth was this exact song, talk while they sat in silence.

"So, who should we interview? I mean—we should obviously interview the boyfriend, father, and mother, evidently. I don't know what is wrong with me. I ought to know better." Since Temperance was not the one driving, she put her head into her hands and blew out a solid breath to calm her nerves. Her nerves felt as if they were all at once numb and tingling, and that wasn't going to help her be composed and quiet for the interview. She felt as if she was being undone.

"Honey, _I_ feel like that, and I'm not having a good time. Just relax. I'll do the driving." But Bones could see that Angela's hands were trembling from the shock.

"Let me drive."

"No hell, no way am I going to let you drive us into a lake and then drown us before we even get back to the Jeffersonian if you feel as unnerved as you said and look." However, she pulled over and let Brennan take control of the wheels when "she was sure her friend wouldn't drive the car into a ditch or a lake or over a bridge or something."

"What do you think about the message on Booth's walls about a bomb?"

Angela was distracted. "Sorry?"

She repeated the question.

"Oh—that, I have no idea."

"But the bomb squad checked and there was no bomb there. And they checked my house."

"Maybe it's a bomb somewhere else. Did you think of that?"

"No—I never thought of that. But that's plausible." She parked at the Jeffersonian and the two women got out of the car, still resuming their conversation. "So, how do you think Roman and Clarissa Peyton are going to react to their daughter's death?"

"If they're normal—and I'm assuming that they're not—they're going to be shocked and distraught," Angela replied coolly. "I'm sure they're waiting. You called them up yesterday, right?"

"Oh, _shoot!_" Bones exclaimed. "I forgot to call them. All right—wait here and I'll call them." She got out her cell phone and rapidly dialed the number of Clarissa Peyton. "Is Clarissa Peyton there? Yes, I will wait...Ah, yes, is this Clarissa Peyton? Oh...I'm Dr. Temperance Brennan, Forensic Anthropologist of the Jeffersonian National Institute. I'm sorry to tell you that your daughter, Amy, is dead." She waited for the reply. Clarissa's voice was very melodious and actually quite gentle.

"My daughter is dead?" Clarissa said over the phone. "How did she die?"

"We can give you the postmortem report, but I'd prefer if you and your husband came over and discussed certain details."

"When should we come? I can contact him, if you like."

"You may contact him, but I'll call him just to confirm. Come at the earliest possible date...preferably before Saturday."

"All right, then. I'll arrange a flight to Virginia." Bones could hear the choke of tears coming on the other line and so she hung up the cell phone.

"Now, for the father," she muttered while dialing. "Hello is Roman there—oh, you sure? He doesn't live here anymore? Well, I'm rather surprised. Would you mind telling me the number? Hello—yes, I'm Dr. Temperance Brennan of the Jeffersonian National Institute. Um...486-0473, that's the number? All right—he lives here in Virginia? Thank you, bye-bye." She went to the Contacts list into her cell phone, murmuring all the while "486-0473" under her breath and entered the number. Then she called Roman, hoping that it was he who answered and not another secretary.

This time, a gruff baritone male voice was audible. "May I ask who is on the phone?"

"Dr. Temperance Brennan of the Jeffersonian National Institute is speaking. Mr. Roman," she quickly cut in before he could interrupt her, "I'm sorry to tell you that your daughter, Amy, is dead."

"I see. And would I have to come over as soon as possible?"

"Evidently, yes," she said, frowning. "You ought to come before Saturday."

"That's fine. I live close to the Jeffersonian anyway." He hung up the phone.

"That's odd." It was the only thing she said before heading back in. Angela offered to stay in Brennan's office, just to make sure; Bones refused. "No—Angela, I can't have you risking your life for mine, as touching as it is." She swallowed. "I'd rather die knowing the whole squint team was safe."

"Okay, no more sentimental talk," Angela said sternly. "It's odd, but this time I'm reprimanding you."

"The ballistics report came back—the gun's a .45 and it took them a long while to figure it out. We need to match up the samples of giant sequoias...our best guess is in California."

"Much better—it's what I expect of you."

So for the day, they focused on the injuries and got a definite match on California with the bark samples. When Bones examined Amy's body for the hundredth time, she found something odd: there had been a ring on Amy's finger, but it was now missing. It was only now that she'd taken enough care to notice the clearly visible marks of a ring. "Angela, did you notice this?"

"Huh?" Angela looked up from the computer. "What is it?"

"There's a missing ring. And did you notice that the weapon was sharp, serrated, like a bread knife, kind of?"

"Well..." She stood up and came over to the corpse. She saw, amid the blood, the wounds that looked like it came from a serrated knife. "That's weird. Unless the guy used a bread knife as a weapon—and although I doubt it, you never know—then...yeah."

"There are also burn marks, also consistent with torture." Squinting, Brennan made out the bits of blackened flesh. "I must've been too tired to look at the corpse correctly."

"It's no wonder, trust me."

She glanced up at the clock—7:30 PM. It was surprising how, when she was absorbed in a case, time could fly by without notice. It seemed like only a moment had passed by. "I think we ought to eat something." She put a hand to her growling stomach, now only noticed. "Ramen noodles again, I presume?"

Angela chuckled. "Don't mix formal speech with informal words—they sound funny."

They went to get Ramen noodles, and as they ate the noodles and drank the broth, they chatted about lighter matters. Both were very tired, and felt like they didn't have the mental energy to talk about serious topics. Mental energy was precious and reserved for important matters; physical energy was reserved for more dangerous situations.

"I'm gonna go see Cam, okay?" Bones stood up and put down her Ramen noodles.

"Well, I'm coming with you," Angela insisted. "Well, we should see how Cam's doing."

In reality, they weren't as sure as they sounded.

"You fine?" Angela asked.

Cam nodded wearily. "I'm just tired, that's all. Nope—don't feel sorry for me," she said, trying to hold up one hand. "So, tell me what you did."

"Not much, really. We just found that Amy might've been tortured... Bones found that out."

"I'm going to see if there are any other things the postmortem report might've missed," Brennan jumped in. "The postmortem department is, sadly, somewhat depleted." It hurt to see her friend hurt and bandaged, so she turned away from the sight. She knew it was wrong, really, to not make any contact with Cam, but she really just couldn't bear it. Three of her friends shot, one of them a potential lover...

"Don't mind her," Angela interrupted the silence boldly (and rudely). "Look, she's still your friend, okay? She's just scared. It's probably unlikely, you're thinking, for Bones to be scared, but she is."

Temperance felt her pride and reputation drop. She was embarrassed to be read so easily, so she took in a breath to stop the flush from reaching her cheeks. "I'm going to see Booth, okay?" she said. She couldn't wait to hurry out of Cam's room, skip past Hodgins' room, and go to Booth's room.

"Hey. I'm getting out of the hospital next week!" Booth announced. "Apparently, I'm healing really quickly."

"That's good news," she tried to say cheerfully, but failed. Her tone sounded somewhat flat.

Booth frowned. "I'm not so sure. You don't sound great."

Damn it—why did they have to kiss? It just created tension! She swallowed before speaking. "Well—it's just—it's very stressful right now, for me, but you shouldn't worry. It's nothing of concern." She dismissed the last sentence with a wave of her hand.

"I'm finding that doubtful."

_**Meeting of Mr. Peyton and Mrs. Oswald: **_

"Mr. and Mrs. Oswald, I'm glad that you could come here," Brennan said a week later. "I'm sorry that your daughter died, and do believe me, we're trying to find out everything that we can. Right now, with the postmortem report, your daughter has burn marks, as well as a blow to the head that caused some cracks on her skull. She wore a ring. She was tanned, and there's a pale ring around her finger. She has injuries that are consistent with torture. There are signs consistent with rape. She had broken bones before this." She hated to be the one giving out the postmortem report to the parents, she really did, but she had no choice.

The mother and father sat there in shock, motionless, soundless. The father, a meaty-looking man with a sharp expression, spoke first. "Are you sure?" he asked almost bitterly.

"I am sure. I know it is not usual code, but I lied. I told them you wanted a second postmortem report. I also did some more investigations on my own. Mr. Peyton—I'm sorry for forgetting that in the beginning—please, but did your daughter get involved in any other activities? Did she, as a teenager, break curfew?"

"She'd broken curfew a few times, but nothing significant," Mrs. Oswald said shakily. "I mean, she didn't do anything horrible. She didn't get pregnant."

"But did she have any boyfriends that abused her?"

"Um...yeah, she just had a boyfriend before she...he's called William Blythe. She came home, crying, and she looked horrible! She had a black eye, and she had a broken arm."

"She never broke up with him?" Bones asked suddenly. She felt her mind focusing on this William Blythe, a possible suspect.

"No. I don't know what she does at night. During the day, she's training. She's training to be a dancer. She did very well in competitions when she was a teenager, but recently, she didn't want to. For several years, she refused competitions. But she got a job offering to dance onstage. The company's called San Francisco Dance Troup or something like that."

She wrote down the information. "Thank you, Mrs. Oswald. Amy was last seen at a bar called The White Horse, about a few blocks away from here. I made inquiries. She had a bottle of red, and then she saw a man. Amy walked off with the man."

"And then she died," Mr. Peyton said roughly. "Thank you, Ms. Brennan. We will contact you if we need more information."

Temperance nodded.

Just as the parents were out the door, Angela came in. "Hey, Bones. The dance troupe that she worked in was called the San Francisco Dance Troup. They hired talented dancers, toured at famous places. Amy had a place in San Francisco, and every year, she went to Yosemite for vacation. What the dance teacher _didn't _mention the first time was that Amy hadn't been coming there for two years."

**_Two days later, in interrogation room with Tatiana Marquette: _**

"So why would you lie?" Brennan asked the dance teacher.

"She was so talented...I don't know. I just—well, all right. My husband, William Blythe, made me, or else he'd..." Tatiana stumbled over her words. "He's a somewhat violent man. I mean, he was so nice to me, but when we married, he abused me. He hit me. He screamed at me." She looked as if the light of the world had completely gone out of her eyes. The pupils were black, so black and flat and unnaturally glossy that Brennan couldn't help shivering. "He lives at 2348 Glen Close Drive."

"William Blythe..." Temperance muttered. That was odd... Amy had last been seen leaving with William Blythe. "Did he have affairs with any other women?"

Tatiana didn't speak.

"We'll resume this interview later," she said to Tatiana's lawyer.

**_At work: _**

"I found something," Angela called.

"What is it?" Bones looked up from her desk.

"I looked around at anything fishy in San Francisco and here, and found that she did dancing. The inappropriate kind," she coughed. "Well, nothing great. She worked at the Hot Stuff club. I don't know what the hell, but they paid her a lot to dance."

Brennan looked at the picture of Amy Oswald from when she was alive. The girl looked practically angelic, with huge blue eyes and a heart-shaped face, all framed with glossy straight black hair. Who would've known that she had a darker side? It was such a waste of beauty and talent, for a girl like that to live such a life and to be killed. "I'm going to contact William Blythe."

**_Interrogation of William Blythe, in interrogation room: _**

"William Blythe, why did you abuse your wife?"

Mr. Blythe sat with his hands laid flat on his interrogation desk.

"I'm asking you again, Mr. Blythe. Can you be so kind as to divulge the reason as to why you abused your wife?"

"You bitch..." Mr. Blythe hissed. "You honestly think that you're going to find out why? Well, I'll tell you what—when your dad beat you up, how do you find your way in life?" His voice rose in volume. "I can tell you what—I didn't kill Tatiana's student, all right. She's a whore. That's what that 'angel' is. Nothing more than a whore."

"You were seen leaving with Amy Oswald at 11:28 PM on the night of her murder. Would you care to explain that?"

"Tatiana asked me to talk to her. She wanted her back. Tatiana had had a row with Amy, and didn't want to confront her."

"Mr. Blythe, did you rape Amy?"

He was silent.

"We will continue this interview tomorrow," Bones said, rising from her chair. "Guards, please escort Mr. Blythe to his jail cell. He is arrested for assault. I have given Mrs. Blythe—or rather, as she prefers to be called, Ms. Marquette—an examination. She shows signs of previous damage by X-rays."

**_In Bone's Office_**:

What Bones hated about interviews was that she had no way to interrogate without speaking coldly and stiffly. She sat on her office's couch, waiting for the nausea that flooded her senses to pass. All she could think about was how horrible the girl's life must've been. If Bones wasn't the character she was, would she have become like Amy? The most important questions to ask now were: did William Blythe rape and kill Amy? Was there a motive, or was he just twisted psychologically? Did Tatiana take a part in this murder?

Who was Amy Oswald, really?


End file.
